Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
That said, she’d made me feel better about it.
And I guessed that was what sisters did.
They were there for each other and made each other feel better about things.
And only then did I realize, this was how it was done, if you were doing it right.
Another way of doing it right was understanding it wasn’t all about you. She had a life and a job to get to, and I was on a mission, so it was time to wrap this up.
“I’ve got about ten thousand more items of clothing, jewelry, shoes and accessories to go through so I can get home. I better get on it.”
“Okay,” Alex replied. “Are you good?”
No, I was one thousand percent not.
I didn’t lie to her about that.
I said, “I will be.”
“Okay, I’ll reiterate, I’m just a phone call away.”
Totally loved my little sister.
“Thanks, Alex.”
“Anytime, Blake. Love you. And later.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
I went away from that one relatively unscathed.
The next one came the next morning.
Dad.
“You and Alasdair have split up?” he asked without greeting after I answered the phone.
“Dad—”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Nothing. We just…it didn’t work out.”
“With the way you two seemed, I thought I’d be paying for another wedding. One, like your sister’s, I was happy to write checks for. Though, I didn’t mind paying for your first, since it ended so splendidly.”
God, I loved my dad.
“Yes, well, I don’t know what to say. We just, like I said, didn’t work.”
Dad was silent.
I thought he was contemplating the fact his first-born child was going to die alone, and before she was lowered into her grave behind the family chapel, her boy toy was going to make off with the family heirlooms.
But at the sound of his voice when he asked, “Did he hurt you?” I knew he was instead contemplating the fact he might have to commit a murder.
Did Dair hurt me?
Suggesting I attended a little girl’s funeral for the photo op?
Fuck yes.
But frankly?
Dair’s question was no less than I deserved.
“There’s a lot of history with this. Between him and me. Not to mention Mum and Bally. It was insane to start with. I think we’ll both eventually come to terms with that.”
And what I said was only a hint of a lie.
“Eventually?” Dad asked.
“I can’t—”
“Darling. Come home. Catch the first flight tomorrow. I’ll buy your ticket.”
“I’m almost done here. When I am, I’ll be home. A couple more days.”
“I don’t like this,” he groused.
I didn’t either.
“I’m okay, Dad. Promise.”
I was such a liar.
“A couple more days, Blake, then I want you home. With me. Not your mother’s place. Here. With me and Marlo.”
Was there news?
“You and Marlo?” I snooped.
“She’s moving in, not moved in, but moving in,” he announced.
Yes, there was news.
And finally, it was good news.
Seemed like Dad was very much done putting the brakes on him and Marlo and now was full steam ahead.
I was all for it.
“That’s great,” I said.
“I’m glad you think so. But the fact you texted her more after we left London than you did me, I already guessed that. I will add, however, that she’s concerned too, since those texts stopped, and we now know why.”
“I’ll be home. Soon. And you can see for yourself I’m fine.”
This meant I had to start eating (bluh). I was losing weight.
And I had to figure out how to start sleeping (yikes!), since I’d probably averaged around three hours a night since it happened.
On the bright side, I was a dab hand with concealer.
“Text with your flight details,” Dad ordered. “I’ll send a car.”
That meant he’d be in the car.
I made a mental note to put the concealer in my carry-on.
“Okay, Dad.”
“I love you, Blake. Very much. You understand that, don’t you?”
Who knew it was harder to be loved than to be a total waste of space and do all sorts of crap not to be loved because you’d learned that the person who was supposed to love you the most—namely, your mother—didn’t love all that great. So you did everything in your power to keep everyone who might hurt you far, far away.
And it sucked to say much the same about Dad, but until the Act of Chad, he’d left me to it.
So there was that.
God, I needed therapy.
Inpatient.
For about five years.
“I understand it, Dad. And I love you too.”
“I’m proud of you as well. You’re a good kid.”
Unexpectedly, the tears hit.
“Don’t make me cry,” I said throatily.
“Crying is good. Feel your emotions, darling. This family doesn’t bury them anymore. Now, I love you, I’m proud of you, and I’ll let you go.”
He suddenly sounded distracted.
“Okay, Daddy. Again, love you too. Bye.”
“Goodbye, my darling.”
I’d learn why he was distracted when I barely let the tears begin to fall, deciding feeling numb was a whole lot better than feeling this, and my phone was ringing again.
This time, Marlo.