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)
Cole’s jaw tightens.
“Come on, lovebirds!” the butler calls from the hall. “I’ve got to show you the wine room!”
I move to follow Justin, but Cole steps in my path.
“I need to borrow her for a minute,” he says, looking directly at Justin. “I’ll have her back in a second.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Just grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway. We move past gilded frames and flickering sconces until he throws open a set of double doors and drags me into the indoor pool room.
The door slams shut behind us.
“We need to fucking talk,” he says, crowding me back until my shoulders hit the paneled wall.
“What if someone sees us here?”
“Sees us doing what, Emily?” He plants his hands on either side of my head. “Talking?”
“You don’t need to be this close just to talk.”
“I don’t like you pretending you don’t fucking know me.”
“Cole—”
“Don’t let your boyfriend ever kiss you in front of me again.” His eyes darken. “I don’t appreciate that shit.”
“You and I aren’t together.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to fuck other people.”
“I heard you’ve been fucking other girls.”
“From who?”
“Taylor.”
“Fucking really?” He laughs, but it’s sharp and bitter. “You sound jealous.”
“And you sound like a fucking hypocrite.”
“I haven’t touched anyone since the day you decided to abandon me for no good reason.”
“I gave you all the reasons.”
“Name one that actually holds up.” He traces a slow line along my bottom lip, and I swallow hard.
“Exactly,” he says quietly. “I don’t plan on being with anyone else. And last time I checked, your mouth—break or not—belongs to me.”
“Cole…”
“Your boyfriend has shady eyes,” he says, stepping back. “He can’t be trusted. And he doesn’t like you the way I do.”
“Like?”
“I’d say love, but that doesn’t seem to mean anything to you.”
He turns and walks out, leaving me with the echo of his words, the pounding in my chest, and the scent of chlorine hanging in the air.
32
EMILY
The night starts off pretending to be normal.
Thanksgiving dinner, hosted not at a home but in the middle of a sprawling bookstore in Tribeca—one of those glossy, curated spaces with floor-to-ceiling shelves, a skylight dome, and string lights laced through rafters. The long harvest table runs down the center of the poetry section, absurdly elegant for a space meant for quiet readers.
But this isn’t a quiet night.
Aidan’s team has rebranded the holiday as a “Thankful Reflections Book Launch Experience.” There’s a printed menu. Branded wine glasses. Organic turkey with truffle stuffing. Half the guests are industry contacts, the other half are press—and every last one of them is here to see a man pretend he’s someone he’s not.
I didn’t want to come. I told myself I wouldn’t.
But Justin’s a fan—a real fan—and asked me, just once, to come with him. To let him get a book signed. I said yes. I thought I could slip in, smile politely, get through one drink and leave.
Instead, I ended up two seats from my mother, three seats from Aidan, and directly across from Cole.
He hasn’t looked at me once since I sat down. Not even when Justin reached for my hand beneath the table. Not even when Aidan stood up, clinked his glass, and began to read.
It starts like this:
“Children don’t need perfect fathers. They need honest ones. My son, Cole, once told me that my strength was the compass that guided him through the worst moments of his life. That he hoped one day to be half the man I was.”
—Chapter 6, Father First, Always
I hear the breath catch in Cole’s throat before I see his jaw tighten.
Then comes the first question.
A voice rises from the end of the table, firm and sharp. A reporter.
“Mr. Dawson,” she says, “if you pride yourself on family values, why haven’t you ever publicly addressed the DUI your son received a few years ago?”
The entire table stiffens. Even the silverware seems to pause.
Aidan blinks. Stunned. But only for a second.
He smiles. “We all make mistakes. What matters is how we learn from them. I believe in redemption and moving forward.”
The reporter doesn’t relent. “So why didn’t you include that in any of your books?” she asks. “Especially since that would imply Cole was drinking underage. Doesn’t that clash with the values you sell to your readers?”
My eyes flick to Cole. He’s not flinching. He’s watching.
He looks like he’s expecting an answer. Maybe even hoping for one.
But Aidan, ever the performer, keeps his smile. “I focus on what will help others. Not every personal detail needs to be published to make an impact.”
He raises his glass. A signal to move on. And the room begins to shift again.
But Cole doesn’t.
He stands slowly and walks out without a word.
I wait five seconds, then excuse myself and follow.
He’s halfway down the hall, pacing. I catch up.
“Cole,” I say.
He spins. “Why are you following me?”