Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
“At least I found the tree angel.” I smile weakly and point to the box on the floor.
“We’ll put it up tomorrow when you’re feeling better. I think you should lie down and rest,” Alex says, watching Lily attempt to fold up the mountain of tulle and cram it back in the box.
“This really is a pretty dress,” she says, forcing the lid down.
Alex looks like he’s far away, and I long to go where his mind went. “Your mom looked like a princess in it. She took my breath away when I saw her. I felt like I was gonna pass out.”
Lily smiles up at him. “Aww, Dad. That’s so sweet. I hope someday I find a guy to love me like you loved her.”
Alex shoves the box back on the shelf in the closet. “Me too. What me and your mom had was rare, which is why I’m not wasting time dating. I’ll never have that again.”
I don’t know why, but his answer makes my eyes burn with tears. “I think I will go lie down.”
“Yell if you need anything,” Lily says. “I’ll just be watching television.”
In my room, I still feel shaky as I put the ice sock on the nightstand. My head doesn’t hurt. Not from getting hit with a box. It hurts inside, like I’m thinking too hard and making my brain ache. I peer into my small mirror and push my hair off my forehead. I stare at the strange birthmark that Alex had noticed. In the shape of a star, it’s raised and white, like a scarification tattoo. It’s been randomly hurting me as far back as my memories reach. My mom even has baby pictures of me—hours after I was born—with my tiny hand on that spot.
I pull my hair back down. I feel sick every time I look at it.
Chapter 19
PENNY
Later that night, I see a shadow in the hall through the crack in my door. I can sense contemplation as it hovers there.
I sit up and lean back against my headboard. My pulse quickens with a mix of curiosity and fear. Is something wrong? Is it possible that after thinking about it, Alex is mad about me knocking Brianna’s beautiful dress onto the floor, then having a meltdown and calling it my gown?
I wouldn’t blame him. I’ve been lying awake for hours, trying to come up with a logical explanation for my odd behavior. But I’ve only dug up more questions. Why am I so drawn to Alex? To this house? To Cherry? To Lily? The dress seemed to open a door, and a flood of emotions poured out. The wedding images that flashed in my mind and the words I thought I heard felt so incredibly real, as if I was somehow a guest at Alex and Brianna’s wedding and witnessed it myself.
No. It’s more than that.
I only saw Alex in the visions. I didn’t actually see Brianna. It was like I was seeing everything from her point of view.
They felt like memories. Her memories.
Shuddering from the chill that’s crept up my spine, I pull my comforter around me.
That’s not possible, I tell myself. In fact, that’s completely fucking crazy. Dr. Sloane has said it countless times—I just have a very vivid imagination. And an odd fixation on everything and everyone at 23 Willow Lane. I’ve been looking at the photos of Brianna and Alex’s wedding in their shed and in their house since I was a little girl. I made them a permanent fixture in my mind. I basically low-key brainwashed myself into thinking I lived here.
That’s all it is.
The shadow is still visible under the door.
I swallow hard over the ball of trepidation in my throat. “Alex? You can come in,” I whisper.
The door creaks open and his broad frame fills the doorway, pausing for a second before he slowly enters the room, leaving the door open a few inches behind him.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” His voice is low and soft, like a lion's purr. It immediately chases the chill from my bones.
“I feel totally fine.” That is, I feel physically fine. Emotionally is an entirely different story.
“Good.”
He doesn’t say good night or turn to leave. He stands there in the narrow space between my bed and small dresser. It’s the first time he’s ever come into my room. Nervous energy radiates from him like a heat lamp.
I know he’s nervous because I feel it, too.
“Do you want to sit with me?” I keep my voice quiet like his and pat the bed beside me.
It’s too dark to see him well, but I hear him inhale a breath. Seconds pass before he glances back toward the door, then sits on the edge of the bed.
“I’m so sorry about the dress,” I say. “I’m sure it was folded all neat and pretty in that box. And now it’s…not.” Lily seriously rolled it into a ball.