Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“Promise you’ll be nice first,” Rose demands, cutting me off.
“I’m always nice, aren’t I?” I slightly condescend.
“No,” she answers baldly. “But what do you want?”
“I’m just curious. Remy told me she doesn’t ever date. Why is that?”
“Are you interested in her, Carson?” There’s a lot more encouragement in her tone than I’d credit her husband for.
“Rose.” For fuck’s sake. Being married to her must drive Remy crazy sometimes.
“Fine. But if you are, you should know she won’t be interested in casual. She’s hanging out for the one. But that doesn’t mean—”
I don’t hear the rest as I stare at her name on my laptop screen, the knowledge that she’ll be there tomorrow reacting inside me like a tiny explosion of delight.
Delight that’s short lived. A delight that becomes a shower of shrapnel, sharp and painful, bleeding thoughts and sentiments and bitterness.
Good. Nice. Kind. Honey hair and wildfire eyes.
Soft, gentle, and a liar, it seems.
But hardest to take is that she’d choose to fuck a stranger over me.
17
Fee
You look done up to the nines, I almost hear my mother say.
More like the tens.
“Oh, Mommy. You look so pretty!”
“It’s just a dress, Lu.” My answer wavers with a laughter that feels unfamiliar. Sort of girly and young, which is pretty much how I feel right now. When was the last time I wore my hair in anything but a ponytail? I can’t even remember.
Sophia, Mr Martinez, I mean, Ed’s daughter jumps up from the sofa in the den-like a soldier standing to attention. “You look beautiful, Miss Fee.”
“Just Fee, unless you want me to feel ninety-two.” Which, incidentally, is almost the same number of dollars I paid for this dress. Picked out from the sales rack in Bloomingdales lunchtime yesterday. I slide my hand down the grey-coloured silk, comfortable in the knowledge that no one but me will know there’s a hole in the hem while wondering for at least the tenth time tonight what kind of singles night is black tie.
The executive kind, silly. The echo of Beth’s disparaging voice resounds through my head.
“No, ma’am. I mean, Fee.” Sophia blushes, and I make a flapping motion with my hand, insisting she sit back down. We don’t stand on ceremony here. We don’t even belong in this kind of place!
“Miss Fee sounds like Nanny McPhee!” Lulu sprays a mouthful of popcorn in my direction. “But you’d have to grow a wart here,” she says, tapping her nose. “And I would have to be very, very naughty for you to get one of those.”
“I’m not sure that’s how warts work.” Because if that were the case, I’d be as warty as a toad.
“In Nanny McPhee, it does. And you would need to wear your glasses, not your contact lemses, but some really ugly ones.” As though I need the visual, she screws up her little face, making circles around her eyes using her forefinger and thumb.
Maybe she watches too much TV? I told myself I wouldn’t be one of those mothers who plonk their kids in front of a screen, but sometimes a person needs a little quiet and—
“What time are you going out?” Lulu drops her hands to her side, angling her head like a terrier as she delivers her anvil-sized hint.
“Who braided your hair?”
“Sophia did.”
“She let you brush it?” I almost squeak, my attention swinging to the teen.
“Because Sophia didn’t make my head go like this,” she barks, miming a little headbanging. “Do you know your dress has a hole in the back?”
“Er, yes. It’s supposed to look like this.” Expensive and sophisticated and kind of sexy. Honestly? I don’t even look like me. “Good job with the hair, Soph.” She either has the magic touch, or those braids are the result of her not being in a hurry. The latter I decide, consoling myself. “But are you sure you’re okay to stay late?”
The teen nods eagerly. “My dad is on shift until six a.m.”
“Oh, I won’t be that late.” Or early, as the case may be. “I’ll be back by eleven, definitely.”
“That’s okay, too, because my cousin said he can pick me up. I just need to give him a little notice. He drives an Uber on the weekends,” she adds by way of explanation.
“Oh. Okay.” Also, damn and blast. “Well, it sounds like we’ve got all bases covered.” Unfortunately. “So, erm, my cell number is on the fridge.”
“And pre-programmed into my phone, just in case.” She nods decisively. “I have your friend’s number, too. Just for emergencies. And don’t forget, my dad is just downstairs.”
“Right.” No escape for me, then.
“Lulu’s bedtime is nine—”
“And I’ll be a good girl and go straight to sleep,” my daughter adds with wide innocent eyes and a perfect disregard for the truth. “Because if I’m naughty, Sophia won’t look after me after school anymore, and we won’t be able to have any more girls’ nights like tonight.”