Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“Excuse me,” Esther says, hauling a basket of laundry off the counter. “Deliveries to make.” She disappears, and the moment she has, Otto appears on the other side of the room. I frown. “You just missed her.”
“Where’s she gone?”
“Making deliveries,” Beau singsongs, going to the fridge and collecting her green juice ingredients. I smile. She’s so compliant and reasonable these days. “I want to know all the details,” she says.
“About what?” Otto places his laptop on the counter.
“Stop.” I lean in. “We know,” I whisper.
“Of course you fucking know,” he grunts.
“So why haven’t you asked her yet?”
“I’m waiting for the right moment.”
I put my hand on my heart. “So, what’s the plan?”
“The plan?”
“How will you ask her?”
“I’ll ask her.”
Beau laughs and then yelps. “Shit!” She pulls her finger in protectively, her face screwing up.
“Be fucking careful.” Otto takes her finger and looks, and Beau pouts. “Maybe leave the slicing and dicing to your husband,” he suggests.
“Are you going to pass out?” I ask.
“No, it’s nothing.” She goes to the cupboard and pulls out the first aid box and a Band-Aid.
“Good.” I return my attention to Otto. “The plan.”
“I told you, I’ll ask her.”
“But how are you going to ask her?”
“With words, Rose. How do you think?” Poor man is completely exasperated.
And so am I. “Otto, let me help you out.”
“Let her,” Beau chimes in, concentrating on wrapping the end of her finger.
“You have to be romantic.”
“Me?” He balks, looking down his front, to the black jeans and black T-shirt, while I take in his hairy, pierced face. “I can’t be romantic.”
“Yes, you can, Boo,” Beau teases.
I titter under my breath, while Otto becomes increasingly uncomfortable. “I could help. What are you doing this afternoon?” I ask.
“Getting rid of evidence,” he mutters, grabbing his laptop and leaving, obviously not interested in any proposal advice. He meets Daniel at the door, my boy all ready for school.
“Morning,” Otto says as he passes, patting him on the head.
“Hey, Grandpa.”
“Don’t fuck with me, kid.”
I laugh as Daniel smiles, and it’s a sight to behold. He’s happy to be going back. I’m happy he’s going back. I’m not so sure about Principal Tucker. The poor man. Did he have nightmares last night? I’d say three mafia men invading his space, threatening him at gunpoint, wouldn’t have been expected. And Danny’s insane and irrational reaction to Lennox? What was with him? Although, I guess my reaction to his “news” in the restaurant was equally fucked up. Do we really not trust each other? “Look at you.” I smile and straighten the collar of Daniel’s polo T-shirt. “So handsome.” He grimaces but lets me at him. “I’ll take you to school.”
“I don’t think I’m going to school.” He turns and wanders off.
“What?”
“I’m going to play tennis with Barney. He’s just taking a shower.”
“Barney’s here?”
“Yeah, Mom, that’s what I said. Barney’s here.”
“Barney’s here?” I face Beau. “What the hell is Barney doing here, and why is my boy so cool about not going to school? What’s going on?”
“They are all very good questions,” Beau says, her Band-Aid-covered finger held up. “And I don’t know the answer to any of them.”
I get up and leave the kitchen, following my feet to the office. I barge in. Find Danny, Brad, James, and Otto.
And Lennox. His face is . . . I wince. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask him. Of course, he doesn’t answer.
“Morning, darling,” Danny says, infuriatingly cool.
I give him the death stare. Please don’t tell me he’s threatening Daniel’s best mate’s father. Then I see the bag Leon brought here on the table. Open. I step forward and look inside. “What’s that?” I ask, looking at James. He’s silent, unwilling to answer. So I try Brad. He shakes his head. Lennox won’t look at me at all.
I glare at my husband.
“That’s five million dollars, baby.” He smiles and comes to me, kissing my nose, like he’s getting ready to pacify me. “Lennox is taking the boys to St. Lucia.”
“What?”
“And you’re going too. He’s into redheads.”
I stare at him, flummoxed. Am I hearing him right? “What?”
Danny looks at Brad, exasperated. “I think I’m going to learn Chinese.”
37
PEARL
* * *
I take the stairs up to our room, unable to be around anyone, fearful I’m a walking red flag. I had the opportunity to share. I didn’t take it. I should have known Fury would tell someone about my . . . episode. Out of worry, like Brad said. And maybe a little because he’s obliged to divulge everything. My confession hung on my tongue, so close to falling out of my mouth. But instead, I lied. I bottled it. And then when Brad—a merciless, cold-blooded, supposedly unattached fucking machine—comforted me, hugged me, it took strength I didn’t have to resist that sense of safety. The sense of belonging. But I have to tell him. Tell him everything. I’m putting him, everyone here, in danger. I feel like I’m clinging on to hope. Praying I mean enough to Brad for him not to abandon me. Or kill me.