Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Wishful thinking.”
She huffs, resting her forehead against the glass of the passenger window. Not another word is spoken until we’re seated on my jet, and even then, she only breaks her silence to tell me she has a headache and she’s going to try and sleep it off in the bedroom.
Somewhere, in a parallel universe, her words are an invitation rather than a deterrent.
Somewhere, in a parallel universe, we’re thirty thousand feet in the air, unable to keep our hands off one another.
Somewhere, in a parallel universe, she’s biting her lip and digging her nails into my back and I’m giving her every last inch of my love.
Campbell disappears behind the bedroom door in the back.
The snick of the lock follows.
She doesn’t know it, but this is for the best.
27
Campbell
“I didn’t realize the two of you weren’t on speaking terms,” Oliver says Wednesday afternoon after I catch him up to speed. Slade is at his office yet again, where he’s been spending most of his time since Monday, and I’m doing my best to not show how desperate I am for a decent conversation. Yesterday, I followed Fiona around the house, helping her and chatting her ear off about every topic under the sun. She humored me and politely went along with it, but by the end of the day, she was practically sprinting out of here. I can’t do that to her again. “How much longer is this going to go on?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, staring at the ceiling as another episode of Below Deck plays on the TV. “Nineteen … twenty more years, maybe?”
Oliver snickers. “You guys seemed so happy at the wedding.”
“We deserve Oscars for those performances.”
“Maybe he just needs some more time.”
“He’s had over two decades,” I reach for my Diet Coke and take a swig, though I need to cool it on the caffeine because sleep has been elusive lately. As soon as we got back Sunday night, I couldn’t take another minute of Slade’s stifling silence, so I’ve been taking up residence in one of the guest rooms, and the bed isn’t nearly as comfortable as the one in the primary suite.
“You want me to talk to him? Maybe there’s something I could say …”
I shoot him a stern look. “No. I don’t need you intervening in any of this. I appreciate the offer, but I think it’d just make things worse. Plus, I don’t want to put you in the middle of this.”
“You kind of already are.”
“Shoot,” I say. He has a point. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.”
Now that we’re officially married and I’m living here, I should try and make some new friends—or fly out some old ones. Stassi and Elise really want to visit, but I’ve been dreading it. I can play the role of a devoted wife for chunks of time here and there, but the thought alone of having to maintain that façade for days at a time is exhausting. And there’s always the chance that my friends will see through it and ask a million questions that I don’t want to have to answer.
“Aren’t you guys supposed to have a baby or something soon?” Oliver asks. “How does that work when you won’t even say hi to each other?”
“So I’m not sure if you know this, but advancements in medicine have made it possible for two people to have a baby without having to touch, talk, or look at one another.” I shoot him a wink. “In vitro fertilization. You should look it up.”
“I know what IVF is. I’m not a moron. I just mean you guys are making this way harder on yourselves than it has to be.”
“You should try telling your nephew that,” I say, “because I’m well aware.”
He squints, confused. “Is Slade making you sleep in the guest room? Because if he is—”
“—no,” I cut him off. “I’m sleeping there by choice.”
“Is Slade making you eat breakfast alone every morning?”
“No,” I say. “But—”
“—but what? It sounds to me like you’re pulling away from him too. It takes two, you know.”
Damn it. He’s not wrong. But it’s not that simple.
“Okay, so if I just throw myself at him, if I just lay down like a doormat and let him sleight me and ignore me at every turn, then things will get better? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask.
“Of course not.” He goes to say something then stops, as if he’s stumped himself.
“He’s had twenty-four years to come around,” I say. “I can’t make him like me if he doesn’t want to like me.”
“I’m telling you, let me talk to him. I know my personal life is a hot mess, but I give really good advice and Slade looks up to me like an older brother. And before you tell me not to get involved, it’s too late. I’m involved. I’m invested. That and it’s depressing watching two people become the worst versions of themselves—no offense.”