Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
There was nothing inappropriate in my speech. I did not take the opportunity for snide comments or sly remarks. There was no need. She was gone. I had won.
The mood in churches was often somber during funerals. Celebrations of life where happier stories were shared happened elsewhere. This was a time to express loss, but the mood was sober more out of obligation; if anything, the overall ambiance was boredom.
A few people got up, made speeches as they were expected to do, and said nice things, most of them completely fabricated for the event. No one cried. No one mourned her at all.
Mr. Astrid himself kept checking his watch, no doubt worried that he’d lose his reserved racquetball court. My father didn’t even bother to show. No excuses were given because they were beneath him. Like funerals.
Even Harrison looked more annoyed than anything else. His bride, sitting next to him in a designer suit that would no doubt also appear in a courtroom, looked a little uncomfortable with her surroundings but otherwise unaffected by her mother-in-law’s passing.
The only person in the entire church that appeared to feel anything other than annoyed or bored was Rose.
Throughout my sermon and the speeches, my gaze kept going to her face.
There were no tears in her eyes. She didn’t look sad, she looked guilty. She knew I had a hand in this, just like she knew she was the reason I had been instrumental in taking it this far.
Anyone who cared enough about Mary Quinn to look into her death would know there was foul play. All it would take was one person prepared enough to look into it or to question the reason the family was given about plastic surgery gone terribly wrong, and they would have seen through it. The family was told it was an allergic reaction to the anesthetic, which would be possible if she hadn’t been put under for surgeries at least once a year since she turned twenty-six.
It didn’t matter the story people told. All that mattered was Rose, and it was plain to see on her face that she blamed herself for actions that she did not cause.
That was the only thing I regretted.
I never should have involved her in my plans. I never should have exposed the lies her mother told her. She would have still been free from her mother’s influence. She would have still lived a life she chose if I had kept the illusion in place for her.
If I had only allowed her to believe the lies of her mother’s death, she wouldn’t have asked questions, either. Instead, she was burdened with the truth, and that weighed heavily on my soul.
After funerals, normally people would hang back, follow the casket to the cemetery for the burial. This time, no one cared. Everyone filed out, letting the family go first, and half of the people left altogether, choosing not to wait around and watch Mary Quinn being entombed in the Astrid mausoleum.
I made my way out of the church, dodging people wanting a word just so they could be seen talking to the priest. It took me a moment to find Rose. Once I did, I ran for her, reaching out for her hands as I got closer.
Just as my fingers reached out to touch hers, she pulled back, glaring at me as she hobbled away faster.
I hated she was in pain. The physical pain of her injuries because I could not stop Mary Quinn sooner, and the emotional pain of carrying so much guilt.
How did I take that pain from her? I was the reason for all of it, even though it wasn’t me who caused her ankle injury or who scratched her face, and I didn’t deal the final blow to her mother. It didn’t matter. It was still my fault.
As soon as she disappeared into her limo, I made my way into the hearse, sitting in the passenger seat as one of the other priests drove from the church to the cemetery.
We led the procession, driving all of two miles an hour through the downtown New York streets, inconveniencing everybody.
Still, we made it there, unloaded, and I watched as the limos all pulled into the cemetery. The second I saw Rose’s dark hair, I couldn’t look away.
When her face twisted in pain as her ankle buckled under her, I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was possessed. I moved forward immediately, sweeping her off of her feet and moving her to a bench to sit and rest her injured ankle.
“What are you doing? People can see,” she hissed under her breath.
“I don’t give a fuck what people see,” I replied. “I care about—”
“What you care about is none of my concern. Do not pick me up again.” She struggled to stand, and I gripped her arm, pulling her closer to me so I could whisper in her ear.