Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Four rolls around and I only just remember to get tickets for Ansell and Baptist and myself. “Whatever you need, Marie, you got it,” Kari, the drummer, says. “You’re going to make us famous, aren’t you?” She’s this awesome girl with great hair and so much energy it’s like she’s always hopped up on drugs or something. Her twin brother, Kurt, is the bassist, while the lead guitarist is this floppy-haired guy named Tobias, and the lead singer and rhythm guitarist is a wild and handsome man named Dean.
“Just so you know, my boss is coming. No pressure or anything.”
“Ansell Drake is coming to our show? Holy crap. I guess we better not suck. See you then!”
The final hour ticks past and I’m a ball of nerves by the time I show up at William’s apartment that night around seven. I can only hope he’s alone up there when I approach his stoop with its perfectly manicured flower boxes beneath the windows. He lives in the nicest part of Philly in a house in Old City, historic and gorgeous and completely renovated, and I knock on his door with my heart in my throat.
He answers and looks surprised to see me. “Marie, what are you doing here?”
“I hoped we could talk. Is now a good time?”
He laughs and steps aside. “You’re my fiancée. It’s always a good time.”
I want to scream in his face but I keep it together.
William’s place is lovely. Hardwood floors, expensive furniture, art on the walls. He’s got crystal decanters and old hardback books, half of which are probably decorative and aren’t meant to be read. He takes me into the kitchen and opens a bottle of wine, chatting idly about his day at work the whole time, completely oblivious to my distress.
“William.” I have to speak sharply to interrupt him and he stops in surprise. “I need to talk to you.”
He shrugs and leans against the granite counter, sipping his wine. “What’s up?” He smiles at me, charming and boyish. He’s tall, and muscular, and I’ve never been afraid of him in my life but suddenly I realize I don’t know him at all. He’s a complete stranger. Whatever I thought was happening inside of his head is a total mystery.
I didn’t think he was capable of hurting me like this, but clearly, I was wrong.
What else is he capable of?
I steel myself against those thoughts. I’m here and I’m not running away. That would be too easy: ignore the facts in front of my face, accept the cushy and comfortable lifestyle of the wife of a rich and connected man, go through the motions of happiness and joy. I’d have wealth, privilege, connections. I could forge my own life.
But that’s not the life I want.
I’m such an idiot for thinking it could be anything else. But I won’t let myself compromise, not anymore. With my stomach in knots and a sour taste on my tongue, I open the Dropbox and pull up a particularly damning photograph before turning it around to show him.
“Is that you?”
He stares at the picture. His face drops into a completely neutral mask and doesn’t show anything. My hands are shaking and I’m so scared I want to drop the phone, but I force myself to stand still. I’ve been so passive my whole damn life, letting other people, particularly my father, steer me around like a ship. I won’t do that right now. I’m standing my ground, even if I hate every second of it.
“No, I don’t think so.”
I blink rapidly and look at the screen. It’s very obviously him. His face is clearly visible. I flip to another picture. “How about this? And this?” I show him more and more, each of them bad enough on their own, but picture after picture is hellish. He stares, drinking his wine, and only shakes his head.
“Not me,” he says.
“William.” I slam my phone onto kitchen table. Rage burns through my nerves. Candles rattle in their sterling silver holders. “You can’t pretend like that’s not you.”
“I most certainly can,” he says, smiling slightly. “But I don’t need to. That’s not me, Marie. Come on, you know what people can do with Photoshop these days. I’m a Crawford.”
I nearly gag. “You’re saying someone’s trying to frame you?”
“It’s plausible. You know my family has enemies and there are plenty of jealous assholes in this city looking to take us down a peg.”
“William.”
“I’m only saying, that’s not me. Now come on, don’t get yourself worked up. Have a drink.”
“No,” I say sharply, staring at him, seething. “I can’t believe you’re denying it.”
He sighs and refills his glass. “Look, Marie. You understand the deal here, don’t you? My father is friends with your father, and they think we’re a good match. And hell, we are a good match. My family name will open doors for you that you’ve never dreamed of, and your father’s hedge fund will further enrich my family’s fortune. It’s a win-win situation. We marry, tie it all together, and boom, everyone’s happy. You pump out some babies and basically do whatever the hell you want. Why are you making things difficult?”