Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Then came the fans with theories and timelines — one in particular that was gaining speed and quickly going viral. We hadn’t even planned this one, but she’d put together a very convincing argument that Aleks and I had been secretly dating since February, and that Aleks had been the first person I’d run to after the breakup with Austin last summer.
She even asked at the end of her video if her followers thought that maybe there was something there before the breakup?
It wasn’t just a little match strike and a slow burning candle flame of a rumor.
No, already it was a forest fire, roaring and spreading faster than we could handle.
Isabella assured me all was fine. She was glued to her phone as she kissed both my cheeks and left earlier, and I trusted her when she told me she had it handled.
But now, in the quiet of my home that was far too large for just me, I couldn’t help but prickle with anxiety.
I didn’t want to lose my grip on the situation — not when I already had so little control of what people said about me. This was a narrative we were creating, one I had the power to curate.
And I knew exactly what I needed to feel better.
Drying my hands on the plush white towel, I grabbed my phone.
Me: We need ground rules.
It only took a few seconds for the little dots to start bouncing, and then a reply came through.
Aleks: And this is a text that couldn’t wait until morning? It’s 2AM, Strings.
I cursed. I hadn’t thought about the time difference before shooting off that message.
I also couldn’t fight the way my stomach somersaulted at the familiar nickname. It didn’t matter how many times he’d called me that since we were sixteen. Every time he did, I felt my cheeks heat just like they had that first time.
Me: Well, for how quickly you answered, I assume you weren’t sleeping. Did I interrupt the porn video playing on your phone?
Aleks: More like the live action porn in my living room.
I scoffed, but something sour sank into my gut at the sight of those words. I was fairly certain he was kidding.
But I was also fairly certain that he could have a porno playing out in his condo any time he wanted it.
Aleks: Why do we need rules?
Me: Because this thing is already tailspinning, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page with everything.
Aleks: That’s my Mia. Trying to control the uncontrollable.
My Mia.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen those words or heard them from his mouth, but they still sliced me open just the same.
I was never his. I never really would be.
And I was pretty sure he was doing all of this out of pure pity and boredom.
Me: First of all, you have to clean up. You’re a nightmare to deal with when you’re drunk.
The little dots appeared again, indicating that he was typing a response, but then they disappeared. They popped up once more, but then were gone again.
Then, the phone rang, Aleks’s face filling the screen.
And not just for a regular phone call.
For a video call.
“Shit,” I cursed, looking around the bathroom like there was something in there that could save me. In my panic, I answered the call, but with the option that only connected me to audio. The screen filled with a dark image of Aleks, one tattooed arm propped behind his head and a sleepy grin on his face.
“Hi,” I said.
“Turn on your video.”
“No.”
“If you’re going to call me an alcoholic, at least have the balls to say it to my face.”
“I don’t have balls, and I didn’t say you were an alcoholic.”
“You insinuated it.”
“No, I insinuated that you can be a messy drunk — which you proved to be true countless times in high school and every year since — and that I don’t want to deal with it as your fiancée.”
He paused, that sleepy smirk firmly in place. He stared at the screen as if he could see me through it even with the camera turned off. “Fiancée,” he mused. “Has a nice ring to it, eh? Should I practice introducing you as the future Mrs. Suter?”
His Swiss-German accent was so slight now that it was barely anything at all, but sometimes, like when he said his last name, I heard it. It brought me back to when we were kids. His English had been phenomenal even then, but now? If you didn’t know he lived in Switzerland for sixteen years, you might never have guessed.
Especially since he didn’t talk about it much.
When we were kids, he’d been tight-lipped about his past until one night when my parents were at a charity auction and we were home alone. We’d snuck a bottle of Dad’s vodka and hung out in the hot tub, and for the first time, he’d opened up to me about his parents.