Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
He was my sister’s ex-boyfriend and my first love. These two facts should never be connected. Hell, they had no place being in the same sentence together.
That didn’t make them any less true.
My loyalty to my sister—who worked two jobs to support us so I could unclaw myself from my parents’ suffocating grip and live in New York—was stronger than my need to steal the warmth of his body. Anyway, even if he wasn’t Millie’s, I had a strict no-boyfriend policy, and a guy like Dean was bound to steal my heart. In fact, there was a small part of it he still hadn’t given me back.
A tiny, ageless housekeeper opened the door to Vicious and Millie’s mansion and ushered me in. I washed my face in one of the first floor’s many bathrooms and gave myself a pep talk in front of the mirror.
You’re fine. You’re an adult. You’re in charge. Don’t let them baby you.
Then I made myself known by walking through the foyer of the Italian villa my sister had purchased with her husband-to-be recently.
I passed golden-hued hallways, rounded arches, and grand, dripping chandeliers, walking past the maid’s quarter—I guess Millie and Vicious were kind enough to let their “help” sleep under the same roof, a courtesy my family wasn’t offered when my parents worked for the Spencers—before finally reaching the drawing room. I scanned the infinite space, digging my cold fingers into the back of the silky Victorian sofa. The only reason I got this far in the mansion without being noticed was because it was the size of the Louvre.
My sister and I were both humble creatures—born and raised to find joy in non-materialistic things—and still, even I could admit that living in such a place would bring you naked, unsolicited joy. It was airy, beautiful, and romantic.
Just like Emilia.
I tilted my head slowly, taking everything in. Up until a few months ago, Millie, Vicious, and my parents all lived in Los Angeles, in the same luxurious duplex. When Vicious and Millie had decided to nest in the suburban haven that was Todos Santos and purchased this house, my parents jumped on the opportunity to stay close to their elder daughter and took up a room here. I say a room, but really, they had their own bathroom, living room, and I heard they had two kitchens here. It was hardly going to be crowded.
I loved my life in New York. The urban filth, the boiling sewers, and diverse faces. I loved my independence—clung to it like it was air, knowing how smothering life with my parents could be—but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a black dagger twisting into my heart.
“There you are!” my sister bellowed, making me turn around on my heels. I slouched against her sofa’s hardwood headrest, grinning ear to ear.
She looked different. Good different.
She was no longer scrawny, her eyes weren’t sunken in, and her pink-purple hair looked luscious and flawless—roots to tips. She wore a white A-line shaped dress sprinkled with red cherries, pairing it with strappy blue sandals that made no sense at all, unless you were Emilia LeBlanc.
“Oh, Rosie,” she said when I threw myself on her, making us both stumble backwards as I smothered her with my love. “I’ve missed you like a limb. Does that even make sense?” She peeled me off of her for a second so she could examine my face, caressing my cheek. Her huge, pink diamond ring sparkled so bright, I was momentarily blinded by the sunlight reflected through the rare twenty-one-carat stone.
I should have been jealous.
Jealous of her engagement and house and fiancé and proximity to our parents. Jealous of her health. Jealous because she had so much, because I had so little.
Swanky Italian villa or not, she deserved it. And no, it wasn’t weird that she’d missed me like a limb, because I’d missed her like a lung. Bitch got me addicted fresh from the womb. She had the talent of taking care of me without making me feel like a burden, something Mama never managed to excel.
Millie smiled, holding my shoulders and scanning me, doing the usual inventory.
“You look too good,” I complained, scrunching my nose. “I hate it when you set the bar too high. You always do.”
She pinched my shoulder and laughed. “Where’s your boyfriend? Thought he’d be coming with you?”
For a reason beyond logic, I found myself blushing as Dean crossed my mind. Millie, of course, was talking about Darren. I never bothered to tell my family we broke up. Millie had enough on her wedding-planning plate without me dumping the breakup into the mix. The plan was to tell them tonight, but I was going to use any excuse to postpone the inevitable. I would rather get a dental treatment from a mechanic than break it to my parents.