Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Would you like something to eat?” she asks. “You look like you need—”
“A cupcake,” Penelope chirps, and if I wasn’t so riled up right now, I would laugh at her. “Everything is better with a cupcake.”
“I just came to tell you that I’m pissed at you.” I point at Tristan. “And to tell you…” I turn to Abigail. “Thanks for calling me back.” I look at the both of them. “Goodbye.” I turn and storm out of the house before they ask questions that I will have to lie to them about.
Even I’m aware of how ridiculous I sounded, but right now it’s the only thing I can control. I walk back into my house ten minutes later and walk straight over to grab the Patrón that I keep in case of emergencies. Grabbing the clear bottle, I move toward the shot glasses and then rule out even taking one. Only when I’m sitting on the couch do I twist the round ball at the top of the bottle before it does a soft pop. “If this isn’t desperate times, I don’t know what is,” I say, taking a pull of the clear liquid. I swallow a gulp, trying not to cough it up when it hits my throat, and then the burning starts all the way down to my stomach. “Mother.” I shake my head and lean back on the couch, closing my eyes and going back to the very first day I laid eyes on Romeo Beckett.
“Do we really have to go?” I asked Rebecca, my friend and next-door neighbor at the time. “Another Hollywood party isn’t really what I wanted to do tonight.”
Rebecca looked over at me and laughed while she took a shot of tequila. “It’s called networking, Gabriella.” She stood and smoothed down the one-piece satin dress she was wearing that was very low cut in the front and went until her mid-calf, but with a big slit in the front. It was very sexy, unlike the stone-washed, high-waisted jeans I wore with a champagne-colored satin tank top tucked in. I did pair my outfit with my open-toe nude Louboutins, which I would regret in the morning since they were just sitting-down shoes. My hair was left down in a soft natural wave. “We will do a once around the room and then—” I raised my hand to stop her from talking.
“And then I’ll grab an Uber and see you in the morning,” I said to her and she laughed, knowing I was one thousand percent right. “Let’s go.” I motioned with my head, grabbing my black Prada crossbody purse.
We arrived at the house and I was already ready to leave when I saw the big iron gate. I’d been in LA for close to six years and I’d seen more mansions than I cared to talk about. It was always the same thing, bigger is not always better. We were stopped at the gate where a security guard asked to see our invite, which Rebecca quickly pulled up on her iPhone, before we were even allowed to walk up the concrete stairs. The sounds of music got louder and louder as we made our way into the house.
We stayed together for a whole five seconds before she dipped and left me to fend for myself. I mean, I wasn’t a loner and I recognized at least five different people I knew by the time I got to the makeshift bar that was set up in the corner of the room. “What can I get you?” the bartender asked me as soon as I was close enough.
“Can I have a Macallan on the rocks?” I asked him and only then did I see the guy who was leaning against the bar. He was wearing black jeans and a black shirt with a black leather jacket. His hair was pushed back as he smirked at me. He was everything that Hollywood was: drop-dead gorgeous. He was the hottest man I had ever laid eyes on, and you know that with my family I’d had my share of hot guys around.
“That’s a good call,” he said to me and I mimicked his stance.
“I’m glad you approve,” I replied. “My day has been made.” I held my hand up. “Actually, my year has been made.”
I didn’t know if he expected me to have that comeback but he put his head back and laughed out loud. “She’s a sassy one.” He reached out his hand. “I’m Romeo.” He said his name, and it was my turn to laugh.
“I’m Juliet.” I extended my hand to him, and he chuckled. “Per Shakespeare, that is.”
“Sadly, my parents didn’t give me a fighting chance,” he stated as he grabbed the bottle of water the bartender placed in front of him before coming over and handing me my drink.