Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72658 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72658 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
They both turned to me with quizzical expressions, as if they didn’t recognize me from two minutes ago because they’d been too busy looking at Axel.
“I’m married to your son.”
The woman looked to her husband, unsure what to do.
He continued to hold a glass of champagne in his hand, but it trembled with nervousness. “I see.”
“I wish I could have met you at the wedding, but you didn’t come.” It made no difference to me that they weren’t interested in being my in-laws. My mother wasn’t interested in me either, and I didn’t lose any sleep over it. But it ripped my husband into a million pieces. “I know how much that hurt Alexander.” It was strange to call him by his given name, but that seemed to be how everyone else knew him.
His father continued to stare at me, waiting for me to speak or leave.
“I know he’s innocent,” I said. “I just wish you knew that too.”
He continued to say nothing, like he hoped I would just walk away if he ignored me.
“Ever since the moment I met him, he’s been nothing but good to me. I’d given up on men until he came along. Maybe his choice of career is questionable, but you should be proud of who he is as a person—and he’s a great man. Life is too short to be estranged from your only son.”
It was clear they wouldn’t remark on anything I said. They took an oath of silence and stared.
“He cares about both of you—deeply.”
Nothing.
“And I know you must care about him.” My eyes shifted back and forth between them, pleading with them to have some sanity.
His father dropped his hand from his wife’s side. “We gave Alexander everything. All of our resources, all of our time, and all of our love. Even if what you say is true, that he’s somehow innocent of a crime for which he was found guilty, he still chose to live a life of criminality—”
“Because you tried so desperately to cut him out of the trust.”
“He could have gotten an honorable job—”
“And made a fraction of the salary he’s used to. You forced him into this life.”
“We are not responsible for Alexander’s decision to push drugs on the street,” his father said. “And to blame us is immature on your part. His association nearly got me killed, and my arm will never be the same since he chose to rub elbows with the rats in the sewers. An estrangement is the only protection I have against another encounter.”
“If he left the business, would you be willing to make amends—”
“No,” he snapped. “There are some things you can’t take back.”
“He didn’t intend for you to get hurt—”
“Doesn’t matter.” Now his voice rose in the middle of the party, the music barely able to drown him out. “I’m ashamed that he’s my son. I want nothing to do with him. Our lives would have been better if he’d never been born.”
I flinched at those words as if my own father had said them to me. They were so raw and painful, I didn’t know how to digest such a horrible, unspeakable statement. “You should be ashamed.”
“Alexander is the only thing I’m ashamed of.” His arm moved to his wife. “Let’s go.”
She hadn’t said anything the entire time, and her face was scrunched up like all the muscles were working to suppress the tears. But she obeyed and walked off with her husband.
I watched them cross to the other side of the room in an attempt to put distance between us, like I might change my mind and pursue them again. It was tempting, to walk over there and throw a drink in that man’s face.
The guests filed out and the music died. Dirty plates were left on the tables, along with empty glasses with puddles of booze left at the bottom. The chandeliers were turned up, dispelling the elegant atmosphere and making it look like a football field under bright lights.
Axel was sitting at one of the abandoned tables, his fingers cupped around an empty glass. His tie had already been tugged loose. He was slouched in the chair, eyes on the glass like his mind was somewhere else.
I sat in the chair beside him. “Want another?”
His eyes lifted to look at me. “Bar’s closed.”
“I can whip up something.”
A slight smirk moved over his lips, but it wasn’t genuine. “Surprise me.”
I helped myself to the bar, making two old-fashioneds with the orange slice stuck on the rim of the glass, and then returned to my seat beside him.
He grabbed the glass and took a drink, savoring the taste on his tongue. Then he gave a nod in approval. “I’m impressed.”
“I used to be a bartender way back when.” I took a drink and ignored the burn as it scorched my throat.