Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
The first one said, “Whitley?”
“That’s me,” Whit said, scampering back out of the pool.
“I have Anna,” the second said.
“I go by English,” she said as she followed Whitley out.
“Your therapists will be with you two shortly,” the first woman said and then smiled politely before leading our friends away.
Lark whipped around on me as soon as they were gone. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said primly, finishing my martini and setting it aside. Normally, I wouldn’t drink something so sweet. The calories were killer, but it was vacation after all. I could burn it all off when I got home.
“Is it happening again?” She sounded sad and resigned.
“Is what happening again?” I really did not want to have this conversation.
“I was there when you were hospitalized after graduation, Katherine,” Lark said mercilessly.
My whole body shuddered. I didn’t want to think about that. I’d fought so long not to think about that summer. I wished that she’d let the whole thing drop.
“I’m only asking because I care about you,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to become that person again. It was horrible. We were all so worried. I thought you were past it.”
“I am past it,” I snarled more forcefully than I’d intended.
“You’ve barely eaten a thing since we’ve been here.”
“I just downed that entire martini.”
“Liquid calories are not the same thing, and you know it,” Lark said.
I turned away from her. Why did she have to bring this up? Couldn’t she see that I was better? I’d beaten the illness. I’d… I’d recovered.
Yes, when I was eighteen years old, my entire world had fallen apart. My father was arrested for fraud. He went to prison. My inheritance was shot. My brother disappeared. My mother became a walking zombie.
And me? Who cared about little old me?
So, I slowly drifted away, too. Even as I drifted, I fought to stay the same. To still be the impenetrable Katherine Van Pelt. The most formidable bitch on the Upper East Side. And the only way to do that was to keep looking the part. To be skinnier, prettier, larger than life. My appearance was all that mattered. Because if I looked better than everyone else, then no one would notice that I was empty on the inside.
And no one did notice. Not for a long time. Not until it was too late.
Then I ended up in the hospital.
Anorexia.
That was the label they put on my file.
It had taken me weeks to believe the word applied to me. Months of therapy before I acknowledged that was what I’d been doing. And still, years later, I didn’t even want to face it.
That was the past. I wasn’t there again. I wasn’t.
And I would never, ever be in that hospital again. Not ever. The very thought scared me more than anything else in my life.
“I’m not… anorexic,” I whispered the pained word. Lark looked at me with raised eyebrows. “I’m not.”
“Okay,” she said softly. She reached out and took my hand. “I know that times have been rough between Penn and Natalie getting married and the rift in our crew and then… Camden. But you’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you to that illness again.”
“You haven’t lost me,” I told her more gently. “I’m right here. We can even have another martini.”
Lark nodded. But I could see that she wasn’t convinced. I didn’t know how to convince her either.
We lapsed into silence, which was promptly broken by our masseuses arriving. I was whisked into a small room that smelled of valerian root and hops aromatherapy. The combination nearly put me to sleep as I was pampered into submission.
The spa was a dream. Lark’s family had not spared a single expense on this resort. Even I was impressed, and I was a tough sell.
By the time I was through with the spa services, I felt relaxed and positive. The conversation from earlier had completely fled my mind. And Lark, English, and Whitley seemed equally tranquil.
Paulo appeared after our services were complete and ushered us to the nearby restaurant for lunch. He spoke speedy Spanish to the hostess, who took us to a prime table overlooking the water. Paulo had apparently ordered for us, and out came pernil, which was a slow-roasted pork shoulder marinated in sofrito and served around the holidays.
I had been skeptical, but I shouldn’t have been. Every bite was absolutely delicious. I didn’t even have words to describe the spices and how succulent the meat was. We must have a place like this in the city, but I’d never had anything like it.
Lark kept a close eye on me while we ate. I tried to ignore her and just enjoy the meal. I was eating. I didn’t want my entire vacation monitored. I gave her a pointed look back as I put another piece of pork in my mouth.