Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
I probably didn’t help that the last time I saw the fucker’s face, I lunged for him.
Fucking Tod. He’s not even a remote threat—it was just instinct.
I know she’ll never love him. I even fucking apologized.
“Uncle Raif… you are a big fat butthead.”
I guess I should be grateful for the way her rosebud mouth purses because I’m sure there’s more where that came from as she channels her inner Lavender.
“Yep. You’re right, I am. But this big fat butthead is just doing the best that he can.”
I’m also not done yet.
Not by a long shot.
46
LAVENDER
“You’re sure you don’t want to come out?”
“Positive.” I don’t look up from my book. It’s not a romance book—I’m no longer in my romance era. I’m in my murderous one because the book I’m currently reading is about a woman who murders her husband.
A little riskier than divorce, but it definitely has its merits.
“Ned?”
“Sorry, what?”
I look up as Tod drops to one knee next to the sofa. Once upon a time, I would’ve killed to see him on one knee before me. But I was just kidding myself.
“You worry me,” he says, his concerned gaze meeting mine
“I don’t know why. I’m fine.”
“You’re anything but fine.” He takes my hand, his gaze dropping to where I no longer wear Raif’s diamond wedding band. “I’ll be glad when you can put this all behind you.”
“You and me both.” I take my hand back, pulling my fingers under my pajama sleeve. I don’t know when that will be—if that will ever be. I seem to veer from feeling like my heart has been crushed, like I want to get into bed and never get out again, to an almost apocalyptical kind of violence, like I want to bring the wrath of heaven down on Raif’s head.
But I can’t stay in bed. I have a business to run, and Polly (surprisingly, not Brin) breathing down my neck. Polly’s conversations go something like this:
“You really ought to talk to someone about things.”
“I’m too busy stewing in my own misery, but I’ll think about it.”
Not.
And Brin’s:
“You all right?”
“Sort of.”
“Want to come out for a pint this weekend?”
“I’d rather ingest my own feet, but thanks.”
For the first week, Raif and I played a game of volley-five-million-between-banks. From my account to his. From his back to mine again. But he won the last round two days ago when my bank told me the account details were no longer valid.
He’d closed his bloody account.
Arsehole.
I have daydreams of withdrawing it all and burning buckets of bills in Polly’s back garden. I won’t, obviously. I’m not stupid.
But this will be my last heartache if I have anything to do with it. It’s just not worth the distress. The constant playback loop. And when I do manage to sleep, the lurid dreams that I wake from sweating, my heart trying to escape from my chest. It’s always Raif and Celine, always in bed. Laughing. Loving. Tearing me apart.
“You’re sure?” Tod persists.
“Positive.” I don’t have the energy. My skin is dull and dry, and my hair is like straw. How these are symptoms of a breakup, I don’t know. “Go.” I make a shooing gesture with my hand. “Be gone. Chill out. Have fun. Who knows. I might be up for eggs Benny in the morning.”
“That would be so good.” A pause follows, his expression turning soft with emotion. “I’m sorry you’re sad, but I’m so glad you’re home.”
I’m glad that he hugs me, not because I want a hug, but because I get to hide my sadness.
Home. If only it still felt like it.
“Ned, wake up!”
“I’m up!” I say, jerking upright like the reanimation of Frankenstein, wondering if I’ve slept through my alarm. But I’m still on the sofa and the TV is still playing silently, throwing ghostly shadows across Tod’s face.
I roll my lips and grimace. My mouth feels like the bottom of a budgie cage. My book is still open, pressed to my lap. I catch the spine on my thumb and wonder why it’s covered in orange dust.
Ah, the Doritos. Which would explain the taste.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I mutter, making to move my legs. Why couldn’t he have just covered me with a blanket? He knows I’m not sleeping well—that I don’t often begin the night in my bed.
“No, not yet. I have something to tell you.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s gone two.”
“Can’t it wait?” I ask grumpily, rubbing the heel of my palm against my eye.
“No, because I have news. The most amazing news!”
“Okay,” I say with all the enthusiasm I have in me. In other words, none. “Go for it.” I flop back against the upholstery.
“So I was out with Leo—”
“Since when have you and Leo been friends?” I demand, narrowing my eyes.
“Since… well, since a while.”
My frown deepens, my spidey senses tingling.