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)
Maren shoots me a pointed told-you-so smirk as she hands her the glasses before turning to the breakfast buffet.
“It looks like you picked up a stray on your way back down,” my grandmother adds, winking at me.
“Not by choice,” Maren murmurs under her breath as she starts to fill her plate with toast and sausage and eggs.
“What was that?” my grandmother asks.
“I said, ‘What a glorious day it’s going to be!’”
I smile despite myself and Maren catches it, her eyes going round as saucers.
I immediately drop it and clear my throat, moving along to fill my plate as well.
“What are your plans for the day, Nicky? Tell me you aren’t running back to the city right after breakfast.”
“I’m going to the club this morning to sail.”
“You are? You should take Maren with you! We were just discussing the fact that she’s never been before.”
“No!” Maren says, shooting the word out of her mouth so fast it’s a wonder I don’t feel it whoosh past like a bullet.
“But Nicky’s a wonderful yachtsman.”
“I’m sure he is,” she says, glancing at me. I swear she’s sizing me up, but I can’t be sure. “Even still, I’d rather not. Besides, you and I were going to prepare those baskets for the Boys and Girls Club, remember?”
I’m frowning, and it takes me a second to realize why exactly her answer annoys me so much. It’s not like I want her to come sailing with me, but her adamant refusal doesn’t sit well either. If her plan is to needle her way into Cornelia’s life permanently, shouldn’t she want to ingratiate herself to me, Cornelia’s only grandchild, as well? She should be flirting and smiling and pretending to be a perfect angel.
I nearly choke on the thought. With her rich brown hair and sharp green eyes, angel is the last word I would use to describe her.
“It’s better this way,” I say, aiming my words at Cornelia. “Rhett and I already have a full boat, and I wouldn’t have time to keep an eye on Maren.”
“Who says you’d have to keep an eye on me?” she challenges, standing up a bit straighter.
“Spoken like a true sailing novice. Have you never seen a yacht in action? Injuries are extremely common with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
“It’s not as if I’d be the one tying the lines off, or whatever it is you do on a sailboat.”
“No, you’re right—you’d just be in the way.”
Maren and I stand facing each other with our plates in hand, holding each other’s gazes as if we’ve entered into some unnamed competition. Her eyes narrow and seem to say everything she’s unwilling to give voice to. I cock my head in challenge.
“Why do I feel like I need to ring a bell and call for a timeout between you two?” my grandmother asks with a deep-set frown.
Maren is the one to look away first, so she can finish scooping some fruit onto her plate before carrying it over to the table.
“Ignore us. We haven’t had our coffee yet,” she says, smiling at my grandmother.
I finish making my plate and then pull out the chair across from Maren. We do a charming job of avoiding each other through the rest of breakfast, directing conversation through my grandmother. She must realize what we’re doing, but she doesn’t let on.
Maren is the first to finish and she rises, sweeping a hand down the front of her sundress to flatten the nonexistent wrinkles.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll ask Collins and Chef if they need anything from the market. I feel like going on a walk into town.”
Suits me just fine.
I’d like to speak to my grandmother alone, to have one more chance to talk sense into her concerning Maren, though admittedly, as I get started and her eyes plead with me to drop it, I find I’m tempted to take her up on it. Even as I speak, there’s less conviction behind my words than there was a week ago, and the thought is unsettling.
I want her gone. Don’t I?
14
Maren
I watch from my window as Tori and Nicholas talk on the driveway Sunday evening. Dappled sunlight spills through the trees, highlighting them from above. Tori is wearing a bright red sweater with a coordinating scarf tied in the French style around her neck. She smiles, and I can’t imagine what they’re saying. I even creak my window open a smidge, just in case their voices carry, but it doesn’t work and I’m left feeling like a stalker.
Tori and a few of Nicholas’ friends all arrived at Rosethorn just after breakfast to convene before sailing.
I stumbled upon their group on my way home from town and immediately froze, not wanting to cross paths with them. It’s one thing to face off against Nicholas when his grandmother is present and another to do so in front of a group of his peers. If he insulted me while they all watched on, I’d probably throw up on the spot.