Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
There’s nothing funny about this shit.
“That’s alright.” Frank pats my shoulder. “I’ll try to work on something with you tonight, or we’ll do a joint toast together. Yeah?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll do it.” He lowers his voice. “Your father has given you everything and more in this life, and a journalist from every major network and newspaper is here to cover this wedding, so the son of Aidan Dawson will be giving a toast.”
I ignore his empty threat and keep my eyes on Emily.
“It’s such a wonderful idea to have the wedding at the estate,” the woman across from me says to her. “I bet every woman in the county will be itching to rent it out for her own happily-ever-after the moment the pictures hit all the magazines.”
“I’m sure…” Emily pushes a lump of potatoes across her plate.
Without looking my way, she laughs politely at all the wrong moments and thanks guests who barely listen.
She says “I’m fine” like she’s done it a thousand times before, like it’s part of her DNA whenever someone asks if she’s alright.
She twists her napkin around one finger again and again, slow and tight, like she’s barely holding herself together.
All around us, the table glows with golden light and curated floral arrangements. Jazz hums softly from overhead, and crystal glasses gleam under chandeliers. It’s perfect. It’s picturesque.
It’s suffocating.
And I sit there, counting every second I can’t touch her.
Every breath I can’t take without it hurting.
When the desserts start circulating and the chatter thickens, she excuses herself with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Her chair barely makes a sound as she slips away from the table, heading toward the back entrance alone.
She brushes past my shoulder as she goes, and I almost reach out—almost grab her wrist just to make her see me again.
But I don’t.
And that restraint burns like acid.
Frank says something else—probably a joke, definitely not worth remembering—but I don’t hear it.
I push back my chair and leave.
Because if I sit here one more minute pretending like this is okay, I will come undone.
26
EMILY
Tap! Tap! Tap!
I sit up in bed and glance toward the window. The forecast didn’t call for rain, but maybe the universe is sending a hailstorm on my behalf.
Slipping off the mattress, I knot my robe and move toward the glass.
There’s no sign of a storm—no clouds, no rainfall, no trace of hail on the landing.
Tap! Tap! Tappp!
The sound pulls me toward the other end of the balcony, toward the side I usually avoid this time of night.
I scan the beach, and then I see him.
Cole.
He’s standing on the grass below, pale as moonlight, a handful of pebbles clenched in one fist. His eyes are bloodshot red, face blank except for the kind of quiet devastation you can’t fake.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, leaning just far enough over the railing. “Is everything okay?”
His eyes drift past me like I’m not fully real, like he’s not sure I’ll still be there when he blinks.
I push open the gate and descend the iron steps slowly, the chill of the metal seeping through the soles of my feet. The night air wraps around my legs, sharp and biting. He doesn’t move. Not even as I rush to him and press my hands to his cheeks.
His skin is cold. Damp with effort or panic—I can’t tell which.
“What’s going on, Cole?”
“He told me no,” he says, voice low and ragged. “I asked my dad to call off the wedding, and he had the audacity to tell me no.”
He can’t be serious.
“Cole…” I bite down a sigh, holding it like glass between my teeth. “Please tell me that wasn’t your Hail Mary to get him to reconsider.”
The hollow flash in his eyes says everything.
“Okay, look.” I rub his shoulders, slow and steady. “Did you really think he’d cancel the entire weekend because you asked him to?”
“Yes,” he says, his jaw locking tight. “That’s exactly what I thought. I said ‘warned you’ and everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he owes me, and the least he could do is call off the wedding because I asked.”
“You didn’t—” I pause. “You didn’t tell him about us, did you?”
“I probably should’ve,” he says. “Maybe that would’ve worked better.”
I sigh. “If someone asked you to let me go, for no logical reason at all, would you?”
“No, but our situation is not the same, and you know it.”
He kisses me before I can argue—hard and bruising—and then he pulls me down into the grass like the ground’s the only place solid enough to hold us.
His lips crush mine, desperate and angry, his hands trembling against my spine. The wet earth presses through the thin fabric of my robe, but I don’t care.
His breath is uneven. His fingers trace the inside of my thigh like he’s trying to memorize grief.