Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Seeing it, I can’t help but laugh. The sound of it pierces the silence, and three Masons stare at me as if I’ve just grown a second head. The sentiment behind their shock is clear: No one laughs at this many carats.
I shake my head at the ring. “No thank you.”
Mr. Mason grits his teeth and elbows Matthew, who leaps off the couch and comes to me, clasping my hands as best he can while keeping hold of the ring box.
“You’re the love of my life. I was such a fool.” His tone has taken on a desperate edge. “Forgive me, Madison,” he begs imploringly.
“What are you talking about? You’re marrying Emma!” I exclaim, wrenching my hands away from his. “This weekend! Or…”
“No. He is not,” Mr. Mason states firmly and impatiently. “That was all a ridiculous mix-up.”
Matthew winces, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment. When he blinks them open again, our gazes meet, and I feel a mixture of pity and disgust for this adult-boy cowering on his knees in front of me, at the beck and call of his parents, too spineless to stand on his own two feet and decide what he wants for himself. I can imagine what happened behind the scenes when he told his parents about our breakup. How easily did he bend to their will? How quickly did he agree to go through with this apology?
“Do you love her?” I ask him gently, lowering my voice. “Emma?”
I wish she were here, this woman I no longer hate. Seeing her would help shake him out of this spell his parents have him under.
He looks down, not answering.
I sigh and lower my voice. “Matthew, you should be with her.”
“Enough!” Mr. Mason explodes.
I reach for Matthew’s hands again and bend forward so we’re eye to eye. Now I’m the one looking desperate. “If you love her, be with her! Don’t listen to them.”
His mother snorts in disgust and shoots to her feet, sending me a venomous look. “This is ridiculous. It’s clear you can’t comprehend our offer, so we’ll give you a few days to consider it.”
Oh no. No way, lady. This ends here and now.
I stand just as confident and sure of myself as she is. “No. My answer is no.”
I fully comprehend what they’re offering me. My old job, my old fiancé, my old picture-perfect life—it’s all there for the taking, but I don’t want it. I don’t want Evermore Events, the neat office, the experienced employees, the helpful accounting department. Somewhere deep inside me, I’m crying at the loss of how easy it would be to take over a company run so seamlessly. Instead, I’m agreeing to stay here, among the piles of boxes, the lost invoices, the absolute chaos.
I don’t care. My future is suddenly crystal clear.
Matthew tucks the ring back into his pocket and rises slowly to his feet, dejected in the wake of my rejection or perhaps—hopefully—as a result of his involvement in this entire charade to begin with. He doesn’t want to be here right now, fighting for a woman he doesn’t love.
“I’ll give you a few days to reconsider,” he says, echoing his mother without meeting my eyes.
“Matthew, come on. This is stupid!” Breaking through the formality of the meeting feels good, so I continue trying to get through to him. “You’re a spineless coward if you let your parents force you to break up with that woman—”
His mom huffs and tugs on his arm, impatiently trying to drag him away from me and my bad influence. “Let’s go, Matthew.”
“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!” I shout after him as he lets them hurry him through the front door.
As quickly as they arrived, the Masons shuffle back into their shiny black SUV, peel out of their parking spot, and disappear down Main Street. I can imagine the heated conversation between his parents as they fire off insults about me and my mom’s company, absolutely disgusted by my refusal to rejoin their family. I wonder if Matthew’s in the back seat agreeing with them or if he’s silently mulling over what I’ve told him.
I guess if he calls in a few days, I’ll have my answer. For now, all I can do is hope he finds some courage to rebel. Trust fund be damned.
Not even a full second after their car drives out of sight, I’m curving around the dust bunnies and haphazard box piles on my route toward the bathroom, holding my breath until I turn the corner and my gaze zeroes in on the three tests waiting for me on the counter. I’m expecting and desperately hoping to see two pink lines on each, a positive result. Instead, they’re negative, three times over.
Not pregnant.
I pick up each stick, tilting and angling it to try to detect a faint line. Even squinting with the utmost concentration and laser-sharp focus doesn’t bring about a magical change. But I don’t give up; I’m still looking them over when the front door opens. Marge and Queenie laugh about something, and I sweep the tests into the trash can, unspooling a mound of toilet paper and pressing it down on top of the tests—concealing what’s causing hot tears to gather in my eyes. I wash my hands and take a deep breath before emerging from the bathroom.