Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Rhys began to frown. “And you didn’t?”
“No, of course not. I barely had time to—” I stopped talking mid-sentence, realising how much I’d been about to reveal. I didn’t want Rhys to know the truth, that I’d had less than twenty minutes to pack a bag and leave while Jesse went to the store. In that short space of time, I was gone. All the divorce negotiations were made over the phone. I refused to ever be in his physical presence again aside from the few times we’d met with our lawyers present.
“You barely had time?” Rhys asked, his frown intensifying.
I blew out a breath and slid my phone in the pocket of my cardigan. “We had a fight that was the final nail in the coffin of our relationship. I left him that same day, so I only packed the essentials. To be honest, I didn’t want to take much with me. I wanted a fresh start.”
Rhys’ frown didn’t let up. “A fight,” he said, looking like he was chewing over something in his mind. A long silence passed before asked, “How much is it worth, this collection of yours?”
“Oh gosh, it must be close to fifty thousand dollars. Grandma left me some rarer pieces, and those can go for thousands.”
“That fucker stole a collection worth fifty grand from you?” His voice was low, furious, and full of gravel.
“It’s not about the money. The collection has sentimental value. And technically, he didn’t steal—”
“He fucking stole it, Charli. You didn’t take it with you and he’s pretending you did. The arsehole probably sold it and kept the money for himself.”
I was a little taken aback by his anger on my behalf though it did feel good to have someone else be as upset as I was at losing my collection. “I doubt he sold it. He doesn’t need the money. He’s keeping it to get one over on me. A secret little win in the divorce, you know?”
Rhys looked at me then back to the road. “Remind me again why you married this prick in the first place?”
The question surprised a laugh out of me while emotion still lingered at the back of my throat. “I guess we all sometimes make poor choices in life.”
“Where did you say you two lived? Philadelphia?”
“Yes, we lived in Philly,” I replied, curious as to why he was asking.
“And what was your married name, Jesse’s surname?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“His surname, Charli. What is it?”
“Miller, but I’m not sure why—”
“I’m getting that collection back for you.”
“Rhys, that’s not possible. Jesse will never admit to having it, and short of me getting a search warrant to enter his apartment, it’s not like I can ever prove it’s still there.”
“There are other ways,” he said just as he pulled up in front of my aunt and uncle’s house. His statement created a panic in me because, although I’d love to have my collection back, it wasn’t worth contacting Jesse. I wanted him to forget I existed, and I certainly didn’t want to provoke his temper even if I was living in a whole other country.
“Please,” I said, reaching out to grip his hand. Rhys stilled, his eyes finding mine. I knew there was fear and desperation in my voice, saw the flicker of surprise in Rhys’ expression when he heard it. “Please don’t do anything. The collection is gone. I’ve made my peace with that. I don’t need your help on this one, Rhys.”
He stared at me for so long I felt my pores tighten. Then, finally, he turned his palm in my hold, gently taking my fingers and lowering his mouth to my knuckles in a light, barely there kiss. My breath caught.
“Okay,” was all he said as he drew away, let go of my hand, and exited the car. By the time he came around to my side to help me out, I’d just about regained the ability to breathe properly.
The following Friday, just before I was about to head out, the mailroom attendant dropped off a stack of letters for the accounts department. Normally, Barry dealt with the mail, but he’d already left, so I sorted through them absentmindedly when I spotted one addressed to me. It came from the Irish Department of Revenue, must’ve been some correspondence in relation to my visit the other week, but that wasn’t what had a sudden burst of emotion hitting me, my eyes flooding with moisture.
Charlotte Moretti. That was the name on the envelope. The first letter in my fresh start addressed to me in my maiden name. I wasn’t sure why I was so emotional about it. It just felt important somehow. I sat staring at the letter for a long time before I realised Rhys would be waiting for me in the parking lot.