Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Information on what?”
“What happened to Frankie Morris? 4B,” I prompt in case he’s not so good with names. “Where did he go? We’ve been looking for him, and from what I gather, you rented out his unit recently. What happened to him?”
The man’s bloodshot eyes bounce between Prince and me. I don’t think the sweat on his brow has anything to do with the activity we caught him in the middle of. “I don’t know. I don’t know where he went.”
“Did he move out? Or did he simply disappear?”
“He moved out. Collected his deposit and all that. He was real neat, no damage. It isn’t every day you have a tenant like that.”
As if I care. “Did he tell you where he was going?”
His head swings back and forth. “No, he didn’t. Never said a word. Then again, it’s none of my business, is it?”
“There’s no forwarding address?”
“No, I swear, he didn’t leave one. He moved out…” He shuffles through papers on his desk before coming to a lease agreement with notes scrawled in the margins. “Three weeks ago. The eighteenth.”
My throat is suddenly too tight. Prince steps in when I fall silent. “You’re absolutely sure of that?”
“Positive. It was Saturday the eighteenth, later in the day. I remember that part since it seemed odd to leave out of nowhere at that time of day.”
I know without looking at him that Prince understands what I now do. “Thank you. We were never here, got it?” His head bobs up and down, eyes bulging, and I decide to leave it at that.
It isn’t until we’re outside that Prince speaks. “The eighteenth. Wasn’t that—”
“Yeah,” I grunt. “My wedding day.”
15
ALICIA
I planned to get up early today, but I’m up even before my alarm. The sun has barely risen, and I sort of wish I was still asleep. When I’m asleep, I’m not here. Sure, sometimes I dream about my life, but usually, they’re nightmares, not nice dreams. It’s still better than reality.
My period must be coming up because I am so freaking emotional and hormonal. I have to shake it off—there’s a lot of studying I need to catch up on, which was the entire reason I wanted to get up early this morning. Lying here and wallowing in misery isn’t going to help anything.
At least I don’t have to worry about waking Enzo. He never stays with me in my room. Once we’re finished, he leaves me alone. Like I need another reminder of how much I don’t matter to him. I’m getting used to that, though. What’s the point of wishing for what I can’t have? Whatever there was between us broke the day of our wedding, and I’m not going to get it back. I need to accept that. Maybe I’m finally starting to since every time he fucks me and leaves me, it hurts a little less.
I force myself to sit up with a sigh and throw black the blankets.
A moment later, I’m scrambling out of bed and running for the bathroom. I barely make it, sliding the last few feet on my knees, but at least my face is hovering over the toilet bowl before the first rush of vomit makes its way out of my mouth. Again and again, my stomach heaves, and I grip the sides of the bowl, straining until the last few drops fall from my lips.
Holy shit. That came on so fast. I’m afraid to get up in case it happens again, but after a minute or so, I’m reasonably confident enough to flush the toilet, then get on my feet to brush my teeth. A part of me wonders if this is a waste of time—if I have a stomach virus or food poisoning, that won’t be the last time I’m sick today. I might end up having to do this again in a few minutes.
I feel awful. All I want to do is crawl back into bed and shut out the world until this passes. What the hell did I eat last night? Even thinking about food makes my stomach churn, but I want to remember. We had grilled salmon, that’s right. Maybe it was off? I don’t remember it tasting bad. But then it doesn’t have to taste bad, does it?
Wait a second.
I drop the toothbrush into the sink and stare at myself in the mirror. Oh shit. There I was, thinking I was feeling hormonal because my period’s coming on, but when was the last time I had my period, anyway? I totally lost track of time. That’s the one thing I should have been paying closer attention to in all of this, but I haven’t.
Am I pregnant?
I probably am. I mean, hardly a night goes by when Enzo isn’t doing his best to knock me up. And it’s not like he ever used protection before we were married, either.