Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Who shouldn’t have been allowed the opportunity to do what?” I ask, confused, seeing Anouska move in closer, listening.
“What are you talking about, Henry?” she asks.
“Katherine,” he goes on. “She was seen loitering around the kitchen on the evening Miss Lazenby had her allergic reaction to the Eton Mess, which, of course, has never had nuts in the recipe.”
“Oh God,” Anouska breathes, shaking her head, while I stare at Henry in disbelief.
“Did Jude know about this?” I don’t know why I’m asking. A very clear flashback of Saturday night at Evelyn’s has just hit me.
I swear, if I find out you had anything to do with it, I’ll ruin you.
He wasn’t talking about my vandalised car. I laugh to myself, looking past Henry and Anouska into Arlington Hall. I suppose he’s in there now, ruining her.
Henry looks all kinds of uncomfortable as he shifts on the spot before me. “I took it to Mr. Harrison the moment it was confirmed.”
“Which was when?”
“Sunday evening.”
I nod, feeling surprisingly calm. “Thank you, Henry.” I turn and start the walk to the gates, keeping my eyes forward, taking in as little of my surroundings as possible. The mad bitch is welcome to him. I have more important things to deal with, and since Jude and I are no more, I will assume I’m safe from Katherine.
More important things.
Looking up at the sky, I blink, forcing the building tears back. I never ever considered having kids. I definitely didn’t consider being a single mum. I have no job now, no man.
But it could be worse.
I could have gone deeper.
I’m not sure how that’s possible, to have gone deeper, but I have to keep telling myself . . .
It could be worse.
And the pain in my chest will subside.
One day.
Hopefully before I push a little human out of my vagina and have to get my shit together. Jesus Christ, I’m going to be a mum. Am I ready? No. But I wasn’t ready for Jude Harrison, and he was one bombshell after another. This little thing inside me can’t possibly hurt me as much as he did.
A small ironic huff of laughter breaks past the lump in my throat as I dip into my bag and get my phone. I pull up Jude’s name. Click to type out a message. Take a breath.
Hey. I wish it hadn’t turned out like this. I wish such a monumental moment in my life didn’t feel so wrong. I want to tell you that I don’t know how it happened, but I do. I was stupid and careless and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m pregnant. I’m not telling you because I expect anything. I’m only telling you because it would be wrong if I didn’t. I’m going away to try and get my head around it. If you want to discuss what happens going forward, I’ll be back in a few weeks. Amelia.
I slow to a stop, laughing at myself for signing off with my name. Because chances are, I could be one of many. My thumb hovers over the send icon, my laughter dying. Then a splash of water hits the screen of my phone. “Shit,” I sniff, wiping my eyes. Send it. I can’t move my thumb.
Send it.
I try to force my thumb down, one part of my mind telling me to do it, another telling me to wait, and another telling me not to tell him at all. That he doesn’t deserve my openness and honesty. And I don’t know which part to listen to.
“Amelia!”
My name lingers in the air behind me, and my shoulders rise to soften the impact of his voice hitting my back.
Don’t look!
“Amelia!”
Instructions flood my mind, but I can’t follow any of them through. Don’t look. Walk away. Send the message. Don’t send it.
I dare to glance back, wincing immediately. He’s not running, not even jogging, just walking with a determined pace. Half the buttons of his shirt are unfastened, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows roughly. Dark-blond hair kicks out from his nape, his facial hair on the longer side of tidy. And when he’s close enough, I see one of his eyes is black. He’s been in a fight?
Jude holds up a palm, as if halting me from walking away. I would, I’d run if I could, but my legs have lost all feeling. “You’re here,” he breathes, slowing to a stop a few feet away.
“I brought the car back.” I can’t look at him. Reminding myself of all the small things I fell for isn’t what I need right now.
“The car’s yours.”
“I don’t want it,” I say quickly, pushing back my shoulders, facing him. “And I no longer need it.”
His jaw tics, which pisses me off. He’s annoyed? “Your brother came to see me.” He points to his blackened eye.