Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
I look past her, out at the crashing surf, the swaying palms. Just moments from dusk, the lip of the sun still clings to the horizon, melting like spilled paint into the sea. She’s right, I think, looking over as the last rays of sunlight wash her in gold. Even being this tense means that my father wins, again. “Okay.”
“Is your whole family here?” she asks.
“They should be.”
“You gave me advice about how to handle your mother,” she says, turning to adjust my collar, tucking it under the lapel of my sport coat. “I’m going to give you some advice, too: Put your hand on my lower back when we’re together. It makes you look physically comfortable and a little possessive, which is hot. Kiss my shoulder when you think someone is watching.” She runs her hand down my chest and then lifts her gaze to mine. “Gaze into my eyes when I’m speaking to you, like I’m the only person in the room. Try to remember what it felt like the first time you were truly, madly, insatiably in love. Look at me like that.”
Unconsciously, my eyes flicker briefly to her lips. They’re full and soft, shiny with a tiny bit of gloss. Legs and lips. My weaknesses.
“Perfect,” she says quietly.
“And what will you do?”
The hand on my chest slips down to my belt where her fingers rest on top of the buckle. “Look at you like I adore you. Like I want to consume you. Like I want you to take me back to the bungalow to rip this dress off and ruin me.”
I swallow, my throat dry.
“Is this William Albert?” a voice booms, and I turn to see Jake approaching with three small glasses in his hands. “And Anna motherfucking Green?”
Her hand falls away. “That’s Anna motherfucking Green-hyphen-Weston to you.” She lets out a happy squeal, jogging over to hug him as well as she can without spilling the shots on either of them. “You look amazing!”
“Me?” He steps back so he can get a good look at her. “You look like a goddamn goddess, Anna.”
“Thank you.” She seems to resist the urge to tug her hem again.
The two of them walk back to me, and Jake looks over his shoulder to make sure we’re alone. “How are my favorite liars doing?”
“I’m nervous!” Anna whispers.
“You’re gonna be great.” He lifts his chin to the party going on behind him. “They’re all assholes.” My little brother hands me a drink. “She looks fucking gorgeous. You should stay married to her.”
I ignore this. “Shots, Jake, really?”
“Trust me, you’ll need it to get started in there. There’s a Time reporter inside who thinks Dad used to work for the CIA.”
“Good God, why does he think that?” Anna asks, waving off the shot when he offers.
Jake shrugs and does hers right after his own. “Because Dad told him that he did.”
“Wait,” Anna says, lowering her voice. “Did Ray work for the CIA?”
I laugh. “Of course not.” Lifting the shot glass to my lips, I toss the ice-cold vodka back and stifle a wince. How does one explain Ray Weston to a person like Anna, who lives fully in the real world? “Dad just talks shit. It’s his favorite entertainment. Having smart people believe his nonsense makes him feel like the smartest person in the room.”
She looks into the tent over my shoulder. “Well, that’s weird.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh. There’s a woman who just did a double take when she saw you two—she’s walking over here.”
“Describe her,” Jake says, leaning in, his hair falling over his forehead in thick waves. There are moments where I see the man he could someday be: playful but grounded, flirtatious but loyal, clever but humble. I want to know that version of him and worry he will forever be frozen in this caricature of the irresponsible youngest son as long as he works for Weston’s.
“Blond,” Anna says out of the side of her mouth, drawing my attention back to her. “Curvy and beautiful. Lots of gold jewelry. Wearing a very, I mean very low-cut dress. Lotta boob happening.”
Jake and I look at each other and grin. “Blaire,” we say in unison.
“Alex’s wife?” she asks.
I turn and look. “Yes.” My sister-in-law waves excitedly and I lift a hand, smiling. I like Blaire, even if she’s a little batty, handsy, and boozy. But in a world full of people who wear many masks all the time, Blaire is the one woman who says exactly what’s on her mind. It’s hard not to respect that, even when the kinds of things she says are—
“Well, hello, you little fuckboys!” she calls, and pulls me into a hug, pressing her boobs hard into my chest, her hands moving uncomfortably close to my ass. The first time she did this in front of Alex, I was so rattled I had to excuse myself to go get some fresh air. I’m not sure she’d actually have sex with me or Jake if given the opportunity, but I’m also not sure she wouldn’t.