Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“He wasn’t like this last time, I swear.”
I can’t even catch my breath enough to answer her, so I just wave like, No worries! Unrelatedly, do you happen to know where they keep those paddles to kickstart a heart just in case mine decides to give out?
“Maybe next time, one of us should fake a limp so he’ll go easier on us,” Tori teases as we walk through the club toward the women’s locker room after our lesson ends. Trophy cases line both sides of the hallway and I peer into a few, catching names that are familiar only because there are streets around Newport that carry the same titles.
Midway down the hall, I’m surprised to spot Nicholas in a framed photo propped against a trophy. He looks younger than he is now, but not a teenager. College age, maybe. He and his friend stand side by side, working together to hoist a large silver chalice up into the air. Nicholas beams at the camera, and I immediately think of my musings from Sunday. Apparently, he does know how to smile.
“That’s Nicky and his best friend, Rhett,” Tori says, coming closer so she can peer into the trophy case as well. “They were both there on Saturday night. Did you meet them?”
“Yes,” I reply, studying the missing link between the boy in the painting and the man from the ball. I find it infuriating that he never had to suffer through an awkward stage. “Nicholas, not Rhett.”
“Oh good. He’s one of my best friends. Rhett is too, but I’m closer with Nicky.”
The nickname—or perhaps the close bond it signifies—doesn’t sit well with me.
“You’re joking. What could you possibly see in him?”
She laughs, but when I turn to look at her, pressing for an actual answer, she shrugs. “He’s loyal and kind.”
I nearly clasp a hand over my chest in disbelief. “You’re joking. Nicholas Hunt? Cornelia’s grandson? Kind?! Are we talking about the same person?”
She cracks a smile. “He can be shy at times, sure, if that’s what you’re referring to.”
Shy is not a word I’d use to describe that man. Arrogant, yes. One hundred percent.
Shy? Ha.
“How long have you known him?” I ask. Maybe it’s a recent thing. Maybe she’s never heard him speak before.
“My whole life. He’s only a year older than me, and we all spent our summers in Newport together.”
Well there goes that theory. Maybe he’s different with her. It’s understandable. She’s of his world; I’m not.
“How old are you?” I ask, wondering more so about Nicholas’ age.
“Twenty-eight.” She jostles her shoulder against mine. “What did he do to you anyway? He seems to have left quite the impression.”
“Oh, nothing. Just rubbed me the wrong way I guess,” I say, moving away from the trophy case and hoping she’ll drop the subject.
I compare myself to Tori while we’re at lunch with Cornelia and her grandmother the next day. There’re the obvious physical differences between us. I have curves where she has none. She carries her body in a delicate way, like she’s a cloud floating above us, never quite touching earth. I seem to produce twice as much noise as she does at any given moment. Scooting in my chair, knocking my fork against my glass of water, jostling the tea cakes. I try to mimic her pin-straight posture and garner a curious stare from Cornelia.
“Are you all right, child? Quit fidgeting.”
She’s right. There’s really no use.
“Nicholas will be in town this weekend,” Lydia says, nodding to Tori. “Do you have plans to see him?”
She smiles sweetly. “Not yet. I’m sure we’ll have lunch again on Sunday before he heads back to the city though, and he’s sworn he’ll take me out sailing again soon.”
“If he does, you’ll have to take Maren with you,” Cornelia replies. “She’s never been before.”
A hearty, no-thank-you laugh spills out of me, and then I quickly clear my throat and offer an additional, “It’s okay. It’s not really my thing.”
Being out on open water with Mr. I Think You Should Leave? Hard pass.
Tori smiles curiously. “Do you get motion sickness?”
I think back to the time Ariana forced me to sneak into a sketchy roadside carnival when we were teenagers. We rode every single death-defying ride twice thanks to the generosity of a weird carnie who enjoyed the way Ariana flirted with him. Leading him on wasn’t one of her best moments. Thinking back, Ariana seems to have a lot of those. Anyway, my stomach was just fine the whole night.
“No, I have a stomach of steel,” I say, reaching for another tea cake as if to prove it.
“Then you’ll have to come.” Tori beams. “It’s an experience you’ll never get anywhere else, and you couldn’t ask for better yachtsmen. Rhett and Nicky have been sailing their whole lives.”
I make a noncommittal show of acceptance and then go on sipping my tea while they make plans for a formal dinner this weekend. I assume I’m not included, but Cornelia clarifies on the way home that I’m expected to dine with them.