Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
He wanted me to go to Cornell. He didn’t want me in Alabama. And I just wanted him, anyway I could.
“That text wasn’t about me resenting you. It was about you resenting me. For giving up everything.” He stared through the screen. Jaw tight. “I literally want to kill you right now…”
I huffed a laugh. “What am I giving up, Bellamy? Please tell me.”
His head thumped against his headboard on a groan. “Everything. Shit I can’t ever give you.” This boy. He had no idea. He thought this life was so damn perfect and it wasn’t.
“Do you want to know where I am right now?” I drained the last of my Champagne and chucked the bottle to the floor. “I’m on my mom’s yacht, in a four-thousand-dollar dress, drinking Champagne, and I am fucking miserable and empty because it means nothing.”
Even through my blurred vision, I could see the crease in his brow, the hurt in his eyes. “Yeah, well. You wanna know where I am right now? I’m in the bed I used to share with you. By myself, because you fucking left me. Over a text you didn’t even know the context of.”
Fresh tears broke free. “You know it was more than that--”
“You didn’t even tell me goodbye. Give me a chance to explain anything. You just left.” It was like he wasn’t listening to me.
“You are so hell-bent on me going to Cornell, Bellamy, and all I want is you!”
“All you want is me, and still, you fucking left.”
“If you wanted me the way I want you, you wouldn’t--”
“Jesus Christ, Drew. I fucking love you,” he shouted, anger and hurt bleeding through his voice. “And if you loved me, you wouldn’t have just left like that. So don’t you tell me I don’t want you.”
And that triggered a barrage of tears, ugly sobs that lanced through my chest like a machete. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t deal with anything in that moment. So I hung up. And god, I loved him. So much.
* * *
I woke up with a pounding headache and the echo of Bellamy’s words in my mind. I fucking love you. Why couldn’t he have said that sooner? It all felt so messy now, but I knew one thing; I loved him, and I realized how stupid I was to leave him simply because he might reject me.
It was because I loved him that he had the power to hurt me, and the second I thought there was even the slightest risk of that, I ran. But I needed him, loved him, and I would take Bellamy over this life any day.
My mother waited on the balcony, the same way she did every morning, at the head of the table, a spread of coffee and fresh fruit sprawled before her. Far more than either of us ever ate. A huge sun hat and sunglasses covered her face, jewelry dripping from her like a walking advert for Cartier.
“You look terrible,” she said, thrusting a cup of coffee at me. “Sit with me.”
“Thanks.” I took the chair beside her, picking at a few pieces of melon.
“I’m all for staying thin, sweetie, but you need to eat more.” The expression on her face was almost a frown, or as close as her Botox would allow.
“I appreciate your motherly concern.” I was pretty sure she just didn’t want me to be ugly, after all, that was the worst thing a girl could be in her eyes.
The scent of citrus wafted up from the lemon trees in the gardens below, mixing with the faint trace of the ocean that permanently lingered in the air.
“Darling, I think we need to talk.”
I let out a sigh. “If this is about last night…”
“You’ve done nothing but get drunk since you arrived here, sweetie.”
“And? You drink with breakfast, mother.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I… I need to fly back home.”
“Why?”
“You know why. The same reason I’ve been drunk for five days straight. I need to go back to Bellamy.”
I waited for her lecture, but instead her head tilted, eyes tracing my face with something akin to pity. “You think you love him.”
“I do love him.”
My mother pursed her lips, plucking her coffee mug from the table. “Love is a fantasy of young women, Drucella. And when that fantasy shatters it will take a little piece of you with it. Save yourself the pain, my darling.”
“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” Though as far as I knew, Irina Morgan De Arman had never loved anyone. “When I know you married for money,” I said. “Three times.”
There was a beat of silence where only the distant cawing of seabirds caught on the ocean breeze. My mother swallowed, tracing circles over the side of the mug. “I met your father when I was young and he had nothing.” That took me by surprise. I knew nothing about how my parents met, only how they divorced. I’d always thought dad was from money like she was.