Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Careful,” I warn her, laughing. “All that sugar. You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover.”
“Whatever. I don’t have any plans tomorrow.” She has definitely loosened up, and I can’t pretend I don’t like what I’m seeing. There’s something so tempting about her right now. It’s more than the memory of being inside her last night, that barrier between us demolished. It’s more than a feeling of possessiveness or ownership or anything like that. Feeling free and easy, she’s somebody I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.
“When do you think we can get out of here?” When it sounds like she’s going to choke on her tongue, I add, “I’ve been dying to go ever since we finished dinner. I mean, unless you feel like hanging around here and watching your mom start a conga line or some weird shit.”
“I think usually people wait until the cake is cut.” She eyes the monstrous six-tier cake on the other side of the room, chewing her lip again.
“Do you really think anybody would care if we missed that?” Standing, I button my tuxedo jacket and look down at her expectantly. “I’m going to go with or without you. We’ve had about enough of pretending for one night.”
She’s torn—until she isn’t. “Fine. I’ll go with you. I can always say I had a headache or something.”
“See? We’re getting along like siblings are supposed to. Our parents will be so proud.” I can’t help but laugh when she rolls her eyes. I think the champagne is affecting both of us, but it’s not a bad thing. For the first time in a long time, it feels like I have an ally.
Even if that ally comes from the last place I would ever expect.
It doesn’t take long to get an Uber—we rode in the limousine straight from the house, meaning there’s no car for me to drive home. The party is still raging by the time our car rolls up, and the drunken shouts still audible behind us make me glad we decided to cut out early. The drunker everyone gets, the more insufferable it’s all going to become.
There’s something almost nice about riding home with her, comparing notes on the day. In her lap, she holds a small purse and a bouquet of ribbon-wrapped peonies and roses. She’s smiling, obviously relieved to be out of the spotlight, away from people asking all kinds of rude questions about how life has changed and what it’s like fitting into a new family. A few of them must have recognized her from around town since they made a big deal of commenting on how much nicer she looks today, how they didn’t know she was so pretty. I mean, not that I disagree, but I at least have a little tact.
By the time we get home, there’s only one thing on my mind. The night air is humid, and I’ve been in this fucking tuxedo all day. “I’m gonna go for a swim,” I announce once we’re in the house, going straight for the kitchen and the doors leading out back. “Come with me.”
“I’m not going to swim.”
I stop at the firm, no-nonsense sound of her voice and turn on my heel while taking off my jacket. She’s standing at the foot of the stairs, one hand gripping the banister while she stares at me. Her eyes don’t look quite as wide as they do when she’s wearing her glasses, but they’re close.
“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” I even hold up my right hand before using it to undo my bowtie. “Come on. Don’t make me swim alone.”
“I’m not swimming. But I’ll come out with you.” She pauses to take off her heeled sandals, then follows me while I shed one piece of clothing after another. My shirt ends up slung over the back of a kitchen chair before I step outside, where right away I undo my belt and kick off my shoes.
“I still don’t know why you won’t. What, are you afraid I’ll drown you or something?” I pause and look over my shoulder, laughing—because it was a joke—just in time to watch her face fall, then harden.
“I’m only kidding,” I mutter, but she doesn’t react right away. Instead of looking at me, acknowledging me, she stares at the pool, sitting in the first chair she comes to.
“I don’t swim, okay? I just don’t.” Her shoulders are starting to rise. She’s about to go back into hiding, and I can’t believe how much I want to stop her from doing it. Is it too much to ask that we have a single night where she doesn’t act like I’m the Grim Reaper?
“What, you just never learned how? It’s easy. And probably safer if you do learn,” I add as I drop my pants, letting them puddle at my feet before stepping out and taking off my socks. She hasn’t moved by the time I’m down to my boxer briefs, which I wait to take off. She’s got my interest. I don’t know why, but something is compelling me to understand her. Maybe it’s the champagne, maybe it’s that little flicker of camaraderie we shared at the reception. For whatever reason, I stop what I’m doing to watch her, to wait for an explanation.