Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“The one and only.”
She pouts. “You’re presenting your work to Ethan Meyer, and you haven’t even shown me, your supportive and art-savvy neighbor.”
“My boss is only introducing us. That doesn’t mean I’ll get to show him anything.”
“Still, it kind of hurts,” she says, slamming a hand over her heart with a theatrical flair.
I smile. “We’ll have to rectify that.”
Her eyes light up. “We’ll have a girls’ night and compare sperm donors and art.”
I can’t help but laugh. “It’s a deal.”
She points a finger at me. “Next week, Wednesday. My place. I don’t care that you’re still on honeymoon. Tell Leon he needs to sort himself out for dinner.”
“That sounds good.” I check my watch. “I better run. I have fifteen minutes to make myself presentable.”
“It’s a date,” she says, still wagging her finger as she skips across the road.
A pang of anxiety tightens my stomach as I hurry inside the house. My stress is twofold. I’m tense about tonight, but even more so, I still feel sick to my stomach about what passed between myself and Elliot. A part of me says I don’t deserve this meeting while another part argues it will be stupid to waste an opportunity that may never come again.
Leon made a terrible sacrifice. He asked me to trust him, and I do. I already trust him with my life, but now I also trust him with our future. We worked for that trust by taking huge risks in being honest with each other. It’s time I’m also honest with myself. I want Leon. I want the life I glimpsed with him, even if it’s imperfect. Even if it’s not love. Because sometimes, there’s beauty in imperfection. Sometimes, imperfection is perfect in its own, twisted way. And sometimes, that’s enough.
I want this opportunity. I’ve been fighting for a chance. Now that it’s here, I’m not going to throw it away to punish myself for ruining Leon’s chances. Because he doesn’t want that. He gave up his chance to give me one. He could’ve told Gus the truth, but he didn’t. That’s huge. That’s as close to love as one can get. It will be cruel and selfish to let Leon’s sacrifice go to waste.
Ignoring the ache in my hip, I rush up the stairs. In the dressing room, I stop in front of my closet. I don’t have much of a choice. It’s either the black dress or my wedding dress. Remembering what Vero had said, I take down the matte-gold dress. I hate showing off my legs, but I’ll just have to follow Aunt Ginger’s advice and own my scars.
As there’s no time to wash my hair, I pile it on top of my head and keep it in place with an elastic. Then I rush through the shower and moisturize my body before pulling on the dress and the golden strappy heels I wore on my wedding day. My mom bought the shoes for my matric farewell party. By lucky chance, they match the dress. I’m applying make-up in the vanity mirror when Leon walks through the door.
“Hi,” I say, looking at him in the reflection.
Surprise sparks in his eyes. Heat darkens them when he drags his gaze over me.
Crossing the floor slowly, he stops behind me. “You look beautiful.”
I turn around. The small space he left between us forces me to lean backward a little. I have to place my palms on the vanity behind me to support my weight. “Thank you.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with a frown. “I thought you didn’t like the dress.”
My voice comes out hoarse. “Not because it’s not pretty.” I clear my throat. “I don’t have the legs for it.”
He lowers his gaze and inspects my legs. “Darling, you have the kind of legs that make teenage boys dream and grown men hard. From the minute I saw you in this dress, I knew it was made for you. So did that bitchy saleslady. I think your aversion had more to do with hating me than not liking the dress.”
I can’t argue the fact. Back then, I despised Leon, but I always liked him too. “That feels like a long time ago.”
“How about now?” he asks in a low voice, tracing the neckline of the dress with a finger. “Has the dress grown on you?”
The light touch makes me shiver. “Very much,” I admit. “So did my engagement ring.”
I love the small black diamond. I grew used to wearing it. It no longer catches on my hair and my clothes. On the contrary, I feel naked without it. But we’re not talking about the dress or the ring. We both know what the question and answer mean.
He brushes the back of his fingers over my cheek. “If you let me, Violet, I can make you very happy.”