Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
I step into the elevator, a preternatural calm taking over my body, cell by cell. Now that Trevor is out of the picture, protected from the toxicity of my life, I can focus on taking that bastard Kyle Manchester down knowing that I’m the only one who will suffer the consequences. I swirl bitterness, rage, and indignation into a witch’s brew I plan to force-feed Manchester personally.
I don’t take my eyes off the numbers, lighting up one by one as I head toward my tower fit for a princess, even though I’m not one. Never have been. If anything, I’m the frog, and my prince is probably already trying to scale the wall I just erected, but he won’t be able to. I’ve made sure of that.
“Sofie, what was that you said to Clive? Why would you do that?” Stil demands, her eyes like lasers on my profile as I study the ascending numbers headed toward my penthouse. “You’re ruining everything.”
“No, not everything.” I harden my expression, freeing it from the pain soaking through my heart. “This time, I’m only ruining myself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sofie
I’m wearing green, my signature color. This is my signature hairstyle, the blond hair flowing past my shoulders, straight as a board to the middle of my back. Makeup—expert. Heels—high and outrageously expensive. The green dress François designed for me molds every curve like my body was a canvas he painted it onto. The skirt stops mid-calf, clinging from hem to throat. Even the sleeves fit my arms like skin. There is no room for fat in such a creation. The woman who wears this dress must be fit and flawless.
And yet when I look at myself I see only mistakes. I wear my sins as surely as a scarlet letter blazing across my chest. I hate the reflection staring back at me. This dress feels tight. This hair feels heavy. This makeup, thick enough to camouflage the angry, red scratch on my cheek, feels like it’s caked all over my face, and I can’t breathe. I can’t do this.
I’m no goddess.
“Ready?” Stil enters the small room where I’m waiting at the Gansevoort Hotel. “I think every reporter in New York, including the National Geographic correspondent, squeezed into that ballroom.”
“Not surprising.” I turn to the side in the mirror, needlessly checking the dress for bulges and wrinkles. “The biggest freak show in this town is here.”
“You’re not a freak show, Sof.”
“Tell that to the protesters outside carrying signs that say ‘baby murderer,’” I say quietly.
“Sof, I’m so sorry. Those are Manchester supporters picking at bones to make sure the support swings Kyle’s way. You know that.”
“They’re picking at bones all right.” I press my lips together. “Like buzzards hovering over my carcass.”
“No one’s paying them any attention.”
“Oh, the reporters certainly are. You can best believe they’re getting their B-roll ready for the six o’clock news.”
“Sof, you know when you’re ready to talk about…” Stil hesitates before going on. “About anything. I mean, you know.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror, silently begging her not to ask me about the baby. She’s known me too long and too well not to get the message. She lets a breath go, running her slim hand through the spiky hair.
“I’m good, but thanks.” I turn to face her. “Is François going mad? He can’t have imagined when he chose me as his inspiration that I’d come with all much baggage.”
“Are you kidding me?” Stil snorts, twisting her matte red mouth into a grin. “He’s practically jumping with glee. I think he’s of the all-publicity-is-good-publicity school of thought.”
Publicity? It seems that every news outlet in the world carried the same headline this morning.
“I spit on you, puta!”
And thanks to modern technology, camera phones all around captured the whole dreadful scene, giving anyone who’d like one a play-by-play of my awful confrontation with Seville.
“Well, I’m glad this publicity is working out for somebody.” I retouch my lipstick, which doesn’t need it.
“You seemed to be courting some attention yourself last night.” Stil’s eyes harden on my face. “I mean having dinner with Rip at Minnow. It was like gasoline on a kitchen fire. If they weren’t talking about Seville, they were speculating about you and Rip getting back together.”
“Mission accomplished then.” I smooth my hair once more, turning to check for lipstick on my teeth.
“Is there a game plan here, Sof?” Stil stretches her arms out before dropping them to her sides. “We’re supposed to be partners, and I’m in the dark about so many things right now. Like why you’re cutting Trevor out and making the world think you’re back with Rip.”
“I don’t care if the world thinks I’m back with Rip.” I study the shoes pinching my feet. “As long as they don’t think I’m with Trevor. That’s all that matters.”
“You think this is protecting him?” she asks incredulously. “From what? He’s calling every hour, has been to the building several times asking to come up. You don’t just throw a man like that away, Sof.”