Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Or maybe they did …? “What’s … What’s going on?”
Heather hooks her arm into mine—a thing I’m fairly sure she hasn’t done since we were teens—and puts on a slightly alarming grin. “But if there’s any better way to heal you from a breakup, I don’t know it.” We walk to the stairs, arm-in-arm, where she stops and rubs my shoulder. “I don’t know whether you’re crazy or a mad genius.”
“Probably a touch of both,” teases my dad.
I have to twist my eyes onto Brooke’s for a semblance of an idea what the fuck is going on.
And it’s she who gives me a grimace of apology and spreads her hands. “Sorry, bro. Had to … tell them about what we’ve been working on these past few days. Y’know. The … super neat idea you had … about being … my big headline guy … at the kissing booth.”
Her eyes tell a whole other story.
She was cornered. Had to cover somehow.
And this is the harebrained bullshit she weaved to keep my dad and other sister off the scent.
“Kissing booth,” I mutter. “Right … That.”
“What a perfect idea,” says Heather, squeezing my arm so tight, she could snap it straight off. “Kiss the Prince of Dreamwood Isle. A kiss with beachside royalty. It is, and I cannot stress this enough, the perfect promotion.”
“Perfect indeed,” agrees my father through a choked laugh, then pats and squeezes my other arm as if trying to snap that one off, too. Then he lowers his voice and gives me a sharp, knowing look. “Excellent business idea.”
And now this idea has turned into something my dad thinks I came up with to help save the Fair.
Yet another secret neither of my sisters are aware of.
That’s all I am lately. A knotted-up ball of secrets and confusion and misdirected anxiety.
“You know what? It is such a rare night lately that all of us are home,” points out our dad. He smiles at Brooke. “Didn’t you say you’ve been itching for a movie night for a long time? Why don’t we make that happen tonight?”
Brooke’s eyes flicker back and forth between me and him. “I, um … well …”
I jump in. “Movies aren’t my thing. And I’m not really feeling it tonight. Maybe we—”
“Don’t you guys go weaseling out of family time like you two always do!” teases Heather, causing Brooke and I to freeze. “We’re doing this! I’ll go set everything up. Does our seven-speaker sound system even work anymore? I’ll go check.” She releases my arm, mercifully allowing blood circulation at last, and hurries off around the corner.
Brooke and I share a look.
A look that begs a conversation after said movie.
Because next, my dad ushers us both to the kitchen to help him with our impromptu movie night snacks. Then all of us are spread out on the couch and armchairs in the living room. The movie starts—something vaguely ringing a bell called The Quiet Monster—and I cuddle my tub of popcorn while imagining River hiding in the guestroom upstairs, possibly having heard all of this.
Maybe he’s right. I should stop lying to my family and just tell them he’s here. They’d understand, wouldn’t they?
The second I look over at Heather curled up in her favorite armchair, I realize no, she definitely wouldn’t. She would explode. The potential scandal it’d unleash upon the Fair, for us to be harboring River Wolfe in our home and casting a shadow upon us—and just as she started to like me again since breaking the heart she alleges Theo has.
Not to mention my confusing knot of emotions when it comes to River himself. I’m not thrilled with how we left things at my bedroom door. I had a whole speech planned to give him after coming home tonight, down to different pivot paths I’d take depending on how he reacted. Now I’m choking down those words alongside a tub of popcorn.
Then the opening scene starts. Hard cut to a face.
River’s.
Close-up. Tortured expression. Dripping wet bangs and eyes glistening with emotion, right away. As if this is his actual face right now, projected onto our TV.
I meet Brooke’s eyes across the room. She’s already looking right back, perhaps sharing a similar inward panic. She grimaces at me as if in apology.
I grimace right back, accepting it.
Then we lock in, and I watch the first film I’ve seen in years—a film that happens to star an actor who, by totally insane circumstances, is hiding in our guestroom upstairs.
But just three minutes in, and I forget it’s River. He’s someone else—a man battling his demons. Is he a good person? Bad? Is there such a thing as either, or are we just quiet monsters suppressing our appetites all our lives?
I find myself attached to his character right away. Then hurting alongside him. Hoping alongside him. Rooting for him … then hating him.