Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Still processing, I say, “Sounds like your dad didn’t learn much from that example, huh? He didn't treat you and your siblings much better.”
Chance blinks, his brows furrowing like this is new information, but surely, he’s put that together before. It’s so obvious. You parent the way you were parented unless you make a conscious effort to do something else. Hopefully, something that breaks the cycle.
Before we can dig deeper into the idea of generational trauma, the front door opens. Chance doesn’t introduce me to the man who answers, who acts as if he’s as invisible as the air around us as he steps out of sight behind the door, reminding me of the staff at the fancy restaurant. No wonder Chance didn’t give their behavior a second’s notice, it’s the same at home. Instead Chance leads me deeper into the house as the heavy door slams shut behind me. I suddenly feel trapped in an extremely gilded cage.
This is ridiculous—house staff, a foyer the size of my entire apartment, and a family line where inheriting an entire company is the norm.
I whisper to Chance, “I can’t imagine growing up like this.”
Chance glances around, and though he’s been honest and recognizes his privilege, he seems to not see anything unusual in his childhood home. “To me, this is normal. Never knew anything different. Just home, sweet home.”
“Remind me to smack you later for that,” I tease. The way he grew up isn’t his fault, it’s just a fact of life, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give him a little good-natured hell for it. Especially when it breaks the tension.
“Whatever it’s for, it’s deserved,” Kayla interjects as she comes from a side doorway, only hearing the last bit of my conversation with Chance and instantly on my side.
She looks stunning—blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect, lightly tanned skin, and wearing a dress that I suspect is custom. If she wasn’t so damned sweet, I’d hate her out of jealousy, but she’s kind as can be. Bitch . . . she’s giving me girl crush vibes, hard.
And I respect her brains . . . a lot.
“Agreed,” I tell Kayla as she leans in to press our cheeks together.
As she pulls away, she flashes a knowing grin. “I can greet you properly this time since you both have clothes on.”
Grinning right back, I answer with a little faux casual shrug of my shoulders. “Would’ve been more awkward than you even know if you’d tried it last time.”
Her eyes flare, and she looks intrigued, but she doesn’t ask questions. “Everyone’s already in the dining room. Aunt Viv’s fashionably late.” Flat and monotone, she adds, “Shocker.”
Together, we walk into the dining room. I’m eternally grateful to have Chance on one side and Kayla on the other because when all eyes focus on me, I swear my knees knock.
Every set of eyes. There’s an old man, an old woman, who I assume are Chance’s grandfather and grandmother, and next to the old man is Charles Harrington. He’s a lion of a man, broad-chested and just starting to go silver-maned. Handsomeness runs in the Harrington family genes, that’s for sure.
“Samantha?” Mrs. Harrington says, her eyes wide and jumping from Chance to Kayla to Luna before returning to me. “What a lovely surprise!” she says, her manners kicking in.
I haven’t seen her since Luna and Carter’s last wedding—long story—but she stands to greet me warmly. “Hello, Mrs. Harrington,” I reply as she wraps me in a polite, friendly hug. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hush that formal nonsense. You know you can call me Miranda.” She swishes her hand with the order, as if she has no idea why anyone would behave uppity and on their best behavior around her. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight. Let me get you a chair by Luna.”
She turns to Cole, who’s sitting next to Luna, instantly shuffling chairs in her mind.
“Uhm, Mom,” Chance says, “Samantha’s here . . . with me.”
I thought everyone was looking at me before, now they’re looking at me. I can almost feel them taking my measure in an entirely new way.
“Let the games begin!” Kayla announces in a low, amused voice, heading to what must be her seat.
“You can still sit by me,” Luna rushes to say, nearly begging me to not freak out the way she said she did the first time she came to a Harrington dinner.
At the same time, Carter’s giving Chance a hard time, chuckling as he offers, “Thought surprise dates at family dinners were my thing.”
“Was your thing,” Luna corrects. “We all know the next surprise date you have will be your last.”
Everyone laughs, and Carter shrugs, knowing she’s right. I’m proud of her. My bestie’s come a long way in speaking her mind, and her marriage is happier for it.