Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
"Thank you."
"No, thank you. You and Marks mean a lot to me. Our friendship is special."
"It is." Now Tova's eyes start to fill with tears. I can't help it; mine do too. "Sorry, it's the hormones or whatever." She lets out a tiny sniffle.
"Yeah, I totally get that." I hand her mascara to put on.
"Thanks." She takes it from me. Then freezes. Crap, she’s going to call me on my slip-up. I should’ve known she’d catch it. "Wait. You totally get that?" I nod. There’s no use in lying.
"Oh my God!" Tova jumps up from her seat, flinging herself at me, wrapping me in a hug. The doors to the library fly open, Mickey rushes in to see what all of the commotion is.
"We're okay, just girl crap," I tell him over Tova's shoulder. She's still hugging the hell out of me.
"Yeah, totally okay." She releases her hold on me.
"Mrs. Marino?"
"No." Tova points the mascara at Mickey. "These are excited tears. Don't you go telling on me." I nod in agreement so Mickey knows she's telling the truth.
"Yes, ma'am. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you, Mickey," Tova says as he closes the doors. She turns back to me. "Out with more details while we get ready." I can't tell her no, so I spill more as we get ready.
When we're done, I head up to my room to change into cocktail attire. I pick a strapless minidress that I haven't gotten a chance to wear. It's a creamy white with embroidered 3D floral flowers I can’t stop touching. It's tight on the top but flares at the waist. I pair it with petal pink mini heels that match the trim on the flowers.
I turn in the mirror, my first thoughts going to Z and what he will think of my outfit. As much as I love the dress, I hope it doesn’t make it through the night. I put on lip gloss before heading back out of my room. I planned to go to Z’s room and see if he’s ready, but my mom is coming down the hallway toward me.
“You’re home.”
“Mom.” She wraps me in a tight hug. Over her shoulder, I see Z step out of his room, a pissed-off expression on his face. When he sees me, it softens, but only momentarily. The hell is wrong?
“Cosima, are you listening to me?” Mom laughs, releasing me from her embrace.
“Sorry, what?”
“How was your flight?”
“Oh, good.”
“I love this dress. Is it a Bronx and Banco?”
“Yes, I love their stuff.” I’m trying to stay focused on my mom, but it’s hard when my thoughts are now worried over Z.
“It’s perfect for tonight.”
“What do you mean?” This is a simple dinner party—or so I thought.
“Come on. People are already arriving, and we can’t leave Tova too long.” Mom slips her arm into mine. “Oh, Z, you’re home too.” Mom slips her arm back out of mine to go to Z. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Are you okay?” she asks him.
“No, he hasn’t annoyed me in the last hour,” I quip, keeping up the façade of us still being at each other's throats.
"Don't be a brat." Z's eyes rake me up and down. My stomach is fluttering thinking about later. "What are you wearing?" I can’t tell if he’s saying that to give me a dig back or he really doesn’t care for the dress.
"You two." Mom shakes her head at us. "Come on." I let Mom take my arm again and head down the stairs with her. I peek over my shoulder to see Z right behind us, that glare still on his face.
Even his glares are sexy as hell. He changed into a pair of dark gray slacks and a white button-up shirt. I can faintly see a few of his darker tattoos through the shirt. The suit fits him perfectly, molding to his fit physique. An ache begins to form between my thighs, picturing exactly how he looks underneath that suit. I’m never going to make it through this entire dinner if I keep going down this road.
“Dad,” I call out when we enter the parlor. This is the only time the room is used. We use it for entertaining guests, both before and after dinner. It’s stuffy with uncomfortable furniture. It could have been plucked from the 1920s with its thick molding and oversized fireplace. Mom once told me that was by design so people didn’t linger too long.
"Sweetheart." Dad motions for us to come over. I walk over to him while observing everyone else in the room.
"Dad," I whisper into his ear after kissing his cheek. "What are you doing?"
"I came to see my daughter."
"Dad." I give him a look that tells him I'm not buying the bullshit he is trying to tell me. It's only a quick look because others are in the room, and I'm not going to be disrespectful in front of them, but he knows I'm annoyed.