Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Yeah, it was a big legal mess.
And the truth was, it might never go to court.
A judge had to decide whether there was enough evidence against Halston to move forward.
It was a waiting game.
I’d been stuck in Taran’s house for days waiting for the media leeches to fuck off. On day four, a UK celebrity was caught on film kissing someone who wasn’t his wife, which took the UK paps off the island. On day seven, the US paps left because they hadn’t seen a peep out of me, and they had other stories to cover.
I knew they’d come swarming again if the case went to court, but despite everything I’d been through, I wouldn’t change it. All that mattered, all that had ever mattered since I discovered the truth, was bringing justice to Rahman, my parents, Ben, and all the islanders affected by the displacement.
Taking in a deep breath, I didn’t mind that my pace was slower than usual as I walked to the B and B. I no longer had pain from only walking a little. Every day since the paps and the private security had departed, I’d gone for a walk, increasing my steps daily, not pushing too hard. But it was so good to get some air after feeling cooped up. I’d thought the villagers would be angry with me about the paps, about the threats and drama, but I was greeted with nothing but kindness and generosity. People brought around meals and gifts and offered to help me when they saw me walking slowly down the street. Everyone knew about my coffee addiction, so someone always brought me an Americano.
I felt loved and taken care of by the entire community.
Except Ramsay.
Sure, I felt taken care of … but he didn’t touch me. He hadn’t touched me in a week. I wasn’t talking about sex, of course. In general. No touching. No affection. No tenderness.
He was all business.
And the last few days … he’d disappeared entirely.
In truth, I was more in emotional knots over him and London than the looming legal battle or trying to complete the work on the B and B through it all. All that seemed manageable. But Ramsay … he’d never been manageable. Or more, that my feelings for him had never seemed manageable. Too big, too fast, too everything.
Then, of course, there was my best friend and all my worries about her. London had called the day after I arrived home from the hospital, hostile and hurt, demanding to know why I hadn’t told her I’d been attacked. Stunned, I’d relayed what Cammie told me about telling Nick and then I informed her I’d left a voicemail on her phone.
There had been silence and then London had whispered hoarsely, “What? No. I don’t have any recorded calls or voicemails from you or Cammie.”
I promised her I wasn’t lying.
We’d talked for a little while and she said she’d fly over, but I told her not to. I wanted her to, but it was a long flight, and I knew it wasn’t easy for her to get time off. When London texted me two days later from a new number without explaining why she had a new number, my mind started racing. Why hadn’t Nick relayed Cammie’s message? Why didn’t London see the voicemail or calls? Why did that mean she needed a new number?
I thought about my concerns regarding Nick in general. After the blinders had been lifted about Hugh, it worried me that he and Nick were such good friends. I’d grown to think of them as two peas in a pod. Were they two peas in a narcissistic, controlling pod?
Now I was anxious about London on top of everything else.
London wasn’t a problem I could solve right now while I was still recovering.
But Ramsay … Ramsay was a problem I knew I needed to face, or I’d drive myself crazy.
By the time I reached the hilly driveway that led up to the B and B, I felt a little twinge in my gut and my limbs were shaky. What shocked me more than anything was how much my whole body needed time to recover from the attack. I grew exhausted easily and couldn’t wait for my energy levels to return to normal.
“Ms. Silver.”
I turned from where I’d stopped to take a moment’s rest.
The young man walking toward me was familiar. Dressed in paint-splattered coveralls, I recognized him as a member of Quinn’s crew. He had a coffee cup in hand as he hurried toward me, his brow furrowed.
“Fit like?” he asked.
I stared at him in confusion and then down at my feet because I knew the Scots sometimes pronounced foot as fit.
He chuckled. “Jus’ askin’ how ye are? Should ye be oot and aboot like this?” he asked in his thick Scots accent.