Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“-unbelievable, Susan, that’s what I’m telling you. She took the seat next to the mayor, and I, quite literally, had to sit with the caterers.”
I pause in the doorway, hoping she won’t notice me. She does. She always does.
“Grace, dear, come here.” She pats the cushion.
I cross the living room on autopilot, waiting for her to start in on my posture, or my hair, or the fact that I am home earlier than usual.
She studies me for a moment, her perfectly filled lips pursing—well, at least they’re trying to. “You look tired. Have you finished packing for tomorrow?”
Is there an answer that won’t make this conversation continue on for longer than I want?
“Almost,” I say. “I am going to finish it now. I’m trying to figure out what to bring.”
She waves her hand, dismissing the matter with the ease of someone who has never packed her own bag. “Your father wants you ready by ten. There’s a brunch at the club before you leave, and you know how he feels about public appearances. Make sure you have that dress he likes ironed, the white one.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Most people have unconditional love for their parents. I wonder if I have any at all for mine. Sometimes, I feel like the answer to that would scare even the best therapist.
I don’t reply.
She dismisses me with a wave of her hand as she returns to her phone call.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and move down the hall to my father’s office, where I know he’ll be sitting, either on the phone or working intensely on his laptop. I try to walk past, to no avail. When he sees me, he holds up one finger for me to stop—and then slams the phone mid-sentence.
“Sit,” he says, not even making eye contact.
I do. The chair is too large, as if purchased purely to make the person sitting in it feel small.
My father is absolutely the kind of man who would do something like that.
“Have you got everything prepared for your trip? I assume your mother told you about the brunch before you go?”
I nod. “Yes.”
I won’t bother telling him I haven’t; it will only end in a fight.
“Can I ask again, what is this trip for? You know we have the showcase in a matter of months, it is incredibly unexpected...”
He looks at me then, and for once, I can’t read his eyes. They’re colder than usual.
“You’re being very ungrateful, Grace. Most girls your age would kill for an opportunity like this. A week of luxury, a world-class team, and not a care in the world.”
“Most girls my age are out there living their lives and partying,” I mutter.
He leans forward, lacing his hands. “Yes, they are, and they do not have a career or opportunities like you. You should be more grateful.”
I’m not going to bother answering him.
I simply nod and turn, leaving his office.
I run up the stairs two at a time, then slam my backpack on the bed. I stare out the window, at the pool lights shining on a blue nothing, at the tennis courts, the guesthouse, the hedge maze, all the pointless things that fill my family’s little world. I pack my bag, but I can’t shake the feeling that I am missing something, and everything is about to change.
Forever.
SQUINTING MY EYES, I stare at the massive yacht in front of me. It looks like a floating mansion. A monstrous white-on-white palace rising above the marina, dwarfing the lesser yachts with unapologetic wealth. The glass railings glisten in the early sun, and the upper decks stack upward until they reach a pool deck. Even from the dock, I can see the gold script on the stern, “Virtue.” I snort.
Aggie whistles beside me, mouthing “what the fuck” at the sheer size of it. Tati, in her silk slip and mirrored sunglasses, gives the vessel a slow, full-body scan. The captain stands at the base of the stairs leading up to the entrance, a horrifically fake smile on his face, and beside him, three staff members offer the same, I would rather be anywhere else, expressions. Well, all except one, who kind of looks like he has never seen a boat of any kind before. He is looking around in awe, big glasses perched on his nose. Then, he proceeds to yabber to the captain, to the point he is forced to turn away.
“Oh, this should be interesting,” I mumble.
I wonder how much my father paid them for this.
Rachel and Iris are already waiting to go on, both in matching linen pants and white bikini tops, arms folded in unison. They glare at us as we approach, like it isn’t my father's money paying for this entire trip. Rachel, who is utterly stunning, if it wasn’t for her personality, has her long black hair tied up in a knot on the top of her head. Her light green eyes are striking with her white bikini top. She is taller than the rest of us, and leaner, but she can dance, no doubt about it.