Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
It’s extra brutal when I know he’s the one who’s bleeding rivers inside.
He’s just too proud to show any tears.
However weak he is about calling her out, he keeps his own agony behind barbed wire. Funerals were the only times I ever saw him cry, minus one of the worst days of the recession, when he had to sign off on a couple thousand layoffs.
“Delia, we’ll get through this,” he promises, his lip pulled stiff.
“There’s nothing to get through, Dad. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s her baggage, and she just...she has a whole freaking house full. What I don’t get is how you keep fighting for it.”
I don’t mean to sound so harsh.
The hurt lines on his face deepen.
God. I can’t even bring myself to take him by the shoulders, shake him, tell him to divorce this loose cannon before it goes off in his face.
But it’s Dad’s decision.
It’s also pretty dishonest to want her gone when I have a very handsome, painfully emotional conflict of interest.
“You know what’s worse than a middle-aged airline exec whose name gets dragged through the mud every time the company stumbles?” His lips turn up when he asks like it’s some strange riddle.
I look at him, shaking my head.
He smiles “A middle-aged executive with mud on his face and two divorces behind him.”
“Oh, Dad. I just want you to be happy,” I say softly. I mean it. “Seriously. You’ve done so much for me. I wouldn’t be half the person I am without you, and the way you bend over backwards for her ungrateful ass—you deserve more. So much better.”
He gives me a big smile and walks over, folding his arms around me.
“Thanks for being my rock, dear, as always.”
I hug him back and slowly let go, feeling him pull away.
He looks past me then, staring down the hall like he dreads what’s next, but can’t walk away from it.
“Well. I guess I’d better see if she’s going to keep me locked out tonight.” He shrugs. “They said it’d be a long road getting everything out of her system and putting her mind back in a good place. Please don’t be too hard on her, honey, whatever nonsense she says. She’s not in her right mind. She’s suffered so much, and I have to help her find her way back.”
You poor, kind lunk. It isn’t your job, I think bitterly.
My fists hang at my sides, clenched so hard my hands tremble.
But Dad doesn’t glance back as he walks away.
I release a heavy sigh, offering him one more burst of encouragement as I call after him. “Whatever works, Dad! Just please be happy.”
Happy.
There’s that word again, a bullet to the heart.
I’m not sure my happiness and Dad’s will ever be compatible.
Definitely not when he finds out about Chris.
And sooner or later, it’s inevitable.
If Chris doesn’t just blurt it out in the open, I know I’ll slip up sooner or later.
I’m scared I won’t be ready for that when it matters most.
I wonder if I ever can be.
And if I can’t, if my fear overpowers this love, what then?
* * *
It feel like I’ve just stepped out of a time machine.
Marnie insisted on lavish costumes and formalwear for this party, and I’m actually not regretting it just yet.
The entire house looks so elegant. When Marguerite overheard us planning, she insisted on pitching in with a few other ladies to dress the place up.
Bows and bells hang all over the place, orange-white stripes and red-white-and-blue, the wholesome décor of a simpler time.
The staff helped me finish the last of the setup this morning, and now the guests are filing in.
Dad went off to his conference as planned.
I struggle not to step on my long, flowing blue dress that reaches to the floor. It’s a boat-neck evening dress with crystal studded around the neckline, all old-world charm and modern sparkles.
Whatever Marnie’s sins, bad fashion sense has never been one of them.
I’m waiting on tenterhooks to see how Chris looks.
He said he’d pick something “appropriate,” which I took to mean something military. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll put Prince Charming to shame.
But I also don’t mind if the anti-Prince comes out to play once the drinks are flowing.
I give it about an hour before people start losing their fancy outfits and disappear across the beach, filling every little nook and cranny with their own rhythm that’s hot and heavy and private.
Whatevs.
You’re only young and in college once. A few drunken sexy parties come with the territory, right?
A loud chime booms from the sound system.
I take the stairs carefully, one at a time, careful not to trip on my long skirt and break my neck. Luckily, I answer the door before any staff beat me to the punch.
Marnie stands there grinning with Mr. Tangerine Man snug on her arm. She’s decked out in this red botanical dress full of abstract shapes that looks like it belongs in a lounge from the Roaring Twenties.