Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
He turned away, tears forming in his eyes. His voice lowered in shame. “Hello, Luxxie. Baby, what are you doing here?”
“Mom is outside. I’m going to go . . . go let her in.” I gulped and tried not to look at all the bandages on his face. Even his lips scared me to tears.
“No, Luxxie.”
“But—”
“I said no!” He snapped, and then he reached out to touch me. “I’m so sorry.”
I stood tall and nodded that I was okay, even though my mind was already playing tricks about the monster before me.
“Mommy loves you.”
“I know.”
“Uncle Red, I love you. Why are you trying to push us away? Don’t you love me? Don’t you love Momma?”
“Luxxie, I love you. But I need you to tell your mother something for me. Okay?”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“Tell your Momma exactly what I say. Tell Gina I don’t love her, and I don’t want to see her.”
I gasped.
“Look at me, Luxxie,” he said. “We both know she’s my soul mate.”
Throat tight, I had difficulty asking, “Then why should I lie?”
Charles didn’t respond to that. He told me to do as he said. And I did.
Now, as I sit propped up in bed, I’m torn between trusting the brain that I’ve depended on since birth.
This can’t be a trick of the mind? I found Uncle Red at the very same townhome. I remember walking into the garage with him and that very second hearing Momma squeal about a 1972 Ferrari 246 GT. If my mind were playing tricks on me, first of all, I wouldn’t have known where to find him.
Uncle Red couldn’t have very well been at that townhome since the fire, mourning Momma and the good old days, could he?
No, they had gotten back together since the fire.
I quietly mutter to myself. “The rape sent Momma running to Uncle Red for comfort. The fire at the laboratory ends the affair—shit—and I helped crush her heart. But for how long? How long was Momma playing Betty Crocker.” I’m part of the reason my mother became the woman that I actually remember her being—always smiling—always happy. Cooking. Baking. She tried to resurrect a crumbling marriage around her daughter. Damn, this can’t be right.
She and Dad were moving right before her murder. But my gut tells me Charles was in mourning there at his townhome/laboratory since the tragedy.
“Time to take a break,” I murmur to myself. I take heed of Victor’s words. Yes, I need to call Aliyah.
Although I talk myself into calling my friend, I continue to wrestle with my mind. Gina Whitson became Martha Stewart. She lived her life through me. She cried my tears when I came home from college because of heartbreak.
God, I will myself not to cry at how Momma sacrificed her happiness. I pick up the iPad and FaceTime Aliyah.
“Hey, girl, you’re looking good,” I tell her, looking at Aliyah in real time through my iPad screen.
“Yes, I am! There's nothing like being a boss.” Aliyah smiles, running her hand through her silky, flat-ironed hair. “Lux . . . Baby girl, what’s wrong?”
I breathe out. “I just lost my dad.”
“You what?” she gasps.
“Oh, sorry, too dramatic. I was also overthinking a second ago. I just never want to see that man again. It feels like I lost him.” Since I’ve purged and dissected everything with Alba already, I give Aliyah the summarized 20/20 segment version of the story.
“Oh no, I don't think Jonah murdered . . . Wow, as gorgeous as your mom was, I guess.” Aliyah’s at a loss for words. “Give it time, then talk to your dad.”
I change the subject. “Tell me about your upgraded persona. Looking good, girl.”
“Lux, you’re looking good too, besides the poked-out bottom lip. But if you want to know, Valentine’s was always the best around here.”
“Oh, did Tommy finally buy you flowers or something?”
“Girl, no. I've been too busy stepping into my destiny,” she assures. “I've had to hire a few people, change our supplier for flowers, and—”
“Our?”
A single eyebrow lifts. “Urban Gardens, hello? Lux, it looks like you need some sleep.”
“What about it?” I gawk.
“Luxury, if you don't stop playing.” She chuckles. “I met with Tudor’s business consultant a few days after you ran off, leaving your girl all to her own devices. Matter-of-fact, I've just sent over the first-quarter reports.”
“Aliyah,” I scoff. “I was selling Urban Gardens remember?”
“Hell, yes, Miss Scrooge. You really know how to cut into a girl’s Christmas shopping. Next thing I know, I get a call from a lady with a proper accent. Her name was, uh, Monica. She said I would run the business for you while you’re away. She scheduled to have me meet an adviser the next day.”
My bottom lip drops. After trying to hold in the beam that forced its way across my face, I listen to Aliyah as she continues to update me on the store.