Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
I shrugged. “I figured it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if it was meant to be and I just forgot that for a while?”
He could not be serious. “Owen—”
“For me, you’re the one that got away, Vee. It sounds cliché, I know, but it’s true. Seeing you again … it just brought everything back. You still care for me. I know you do.”
“No, Owen, I really don’t.”
He smiled. “Yes, you do. And I still care for you. You can’t know how many times you popped into my head over the years. Hell, I even thought about you on my own damn wedding day.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have thrown away what we had. It was by far the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. It won’t happen again. If you give me another chance—”
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurted out.
He stilled, his eyes flickering. “Seeing someone?”
“Yes.” It might have been a fake relationship, but I was still spoken for. And if I didn’t state now that I was taken and he later heard I was dating Dane, it would seem weird to Owen that I didn’t mention it.
He blinked rapidly. “Well, it can’t be serious. You don’t live with him. You’re not with him on a Saturday evening.”
“I’m meeting him later, which is why you really need to go.” I pushed to my feet. “I have to get ready.”
He stood slowly, watching my face closely. “Does he make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed just a little. “I don’t think that’s true. Call it a gut feeling.”
“Believe what you want,” I said, crossing to the door. I opened it wide. “It was nice to see you again, Owen. I wish you well, I do. But I need you to leave, and I’d rather you didn’t come back. The past is better off left where it belongs—far behind us.”
Seconds ticked by as he stared at me, saying nothing. Then, finally, he strode out of the apartment. “I’m not giving up, Vee,” he said just as I was about to close the door. “I fucked up once before. I know what I lost. I won’t lose it again.” Then he was gone.
Cursing under my breath, I shut the door, wishing I hadn’t answered it in the first place.
Was l moved by his declaration? No. Not in the slightest.
It wasn’t that I was an unforgiving person. I didn’t hold grudges or refuse to accept apologies. But if a person ever sincerely screwed me over, it was like a mental wall slammed up between us. I didn’t purposely put it there. It just happened. It was a self-defense mechanism, I supposed. It had protected me from my foster sister’s hurtful words and actions for a long time.
A wall had popped up between Owen and me when he broke off the engagement, talking like I’d somehow conned him into proposing to me against his better judgement. He’d said he needed to concentrate on moving forward with his life, as if I would hold him back. And I’d known that what he really meant was that he wanted to put the early part of his life behind him, wanted to become someone new and make a fresh start.
I’d understood, so I hadn’t vilified him for it. But I’d hated that he’d made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to be part of the future he’d mapped out for himself, that I wouldn’t fit with whatever new image he meant to create. Yeah, my defenses had slammed up in an instant. And I was glad of that, because it had numbed the pain and allowed me to move on from Owen faster than I otherwise might have done.
If he truly believed I still cared for him, he was dead wrong. I didn’t wish him ill, but I wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.
Determined to shove him out of my mind, I made my way to the bathroom. It was time to get ready for my fake date with my fake secret boyfriend.
Later on, I strolled out of my apartment complex and over to the sleek, fancy, black car that was parked at the curb. I smiled at the broad figure who opened the rear door for me. “Hi, Sam, how are you?” Nothing in my voice or expression gave away that I was still feeling twitchy with nerves.
“I’m well, Miss Stratton,” replied Dane’s driver. “And you?”
“Fine, thanks.” I slid onto the warm, butter-soft leather seat and looked at the lethally sensual male beside me who was focused on his phone—no doubt responding to a business email.
My breath caught at the delicious sight of him in a perfectly fitted, charcoal shirt and black slacks that would no doubt hug his epic butt just right. I saw him in tailored suits every day, always looking effortlessly well-groomed, smelling amazing, and generally oozing raw sex appeal. But it never got old—he could still make my pulse spike.