Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
She moves back to the bed and sits on the edge. “You were lucky—”
“I know. I know. I was lucky to have survived the wreck. I’m not ungrateful. I just wish I had answers for what happened that night.” I glance at the paper stuck to my mirror. Two years of staring at it. Two years of mystery wrapped up in three words and an initial.
I love you. L.
Someone cared enough about me to give me a love letter.
“Who is L?” I ask myself for the billionth time.
She looks over at the note. “I have no clue. The last text I got from you was when you went back to your hotel. Unless you were hiding some guy—”
“Was I?”
Her hands secure themselves to her hips. “I know you weren’t dating anyone prior. You usually tell me everything.” I hear the question in her tone.
“I do tell you everything, Marina. I always have.”
“Well, you apparently left something out.” She’s smiling when she walks over to the note and taps the mirror next to the paper. “Have you thought about having it dusted for fingerprints?”
I crack up, but she doesn’t. “Okay, detective. You’re not on a Broadway stage right now. This is real life.”
“Sorry, sometimes I go method with my acting.” Moving back to the dresses, she flips through a few again before adding, “I think you’re right.”
“About?”
“Black, like the funeral this wedding is.” My best friend always has my back.
I hang the dress on a hook on the back of my bedroom door and walk into the living room. “How long are you in LA?”
She follows me from room to room. “It’s a quick trip for a studio visit.” She’s right. We’re like sisters, and her family is better than my own.
I spent so much time at her house growing up because my mom never seemed to miss me. I doubt she even knew I was gone half the time. My dad is the asshole who wanted a redo when he hit forty and left us both. Opening the fridge, I ask, “Wine?”
Sitting on a barstool, she laughs. “No wine. You need to face this moment. Look her straight in the eyes and—”
“And hide what I really think about them hooking up behind my back?”
Scoffing, she waves her hand. “You didn’t even like Trevor. You’re the one who broke up with him, remember? Now, he’s her problem. If it were me, I’d be celebrating.”
“You’re right.” Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I hold my head high. “I’ll go to this lunch with her, holding my head high, and let them torture each other for the rest of their lives.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I couldn’t ask for a better friend. She always has my back . . . and apparently, matching haircuts these days as well. “Your hair is darker,” I say, handing her a glass of water. “I’d ask if you want still or sparkling, but I only have tap today.”
“Tap works,” she replies, swiveling and jumping off the stool. I notice she leaves the water behind, though. “It’s for the meeting. Makes my eye color pop.”
Light against dark is always an attractive combination. I take another look, but I'm not sure why it’s so familiar. I think this is the darkest I’ve ever seen it. “What role?”
“A Bond girl,” she replies as if that’s not an amazing opportunity.
“That’s incredible.” Tugging open the sliding glass door, I add, “One. I thought you were sticking with Broadway?”
We walk onto the patio and sit at the bistro table I have out there. “It’s been a few years since I did a movie. More than three.” She sighs, letting her thoughts get the better of her. We’re a lot like each other that way.
She’s the brunette to my blond, blue eyes to my hazel. She studied to be an actress, and I blew through culinary school, but some things never change—our friendship and always being there when the other needs us most. She’s also one of the few people in the world who can hold me accountable without my defenses going up.
My mother doesn’t have the same talent.
She asks, “And two?”
I glance over, and she’s more beautiful than ever. “Two. Happiness suits you, Mare.”
Her smile is prettier than mine ever was, but she’ll deny it. Reaching across the table, she covers my hand with hers. “Thank you. How are you really doing?”
“I’m ready to work. All this time off has made me want to get back to what I love to do. Cook. Be creative in the kitchen again. Though it’s funny because my chicken pesto is always the most requested dish.”
“It’s delicious and a classic. I’ll pay you to make it for me again.”
Cracking up, I sit there dabbling in my feels. Who needs blood relatives when you have family like Marina? “Your money is no good here. I’ll make it the next time you’re in town.”