Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Isn't that what I should… want? To be better?
“Come on,” Mam says, linking her arm through mine. “We've got reservations at D'Agostino's in an hour. We don't want to be late.”
The restaurant's one of Marcus's regulars, but somehow it feels different. More final. Like this is the last meal of my old life before everything changes.
Marcus orders grilled salmon and steamed vegetables for both of us, and I don't argue.
Conversations swirl around me. Aunt Anna gushes about the wedding. Mam talks about flowers and seating arrangements and whether we should have a string quartet. Marcus discusses his work, something about investments and portfolios that I tune out.
“You're awfully quiet, love,” Mam says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Everything alright?”
“Just tired. It's been a long day.”
“Well, you'll get plenty of rest once you're settled in at Marcus's place. No more of that rickety old flat with the dodgy heating, hmm?”
Marcus's place. Not our place. His.
“Aye.” I twirl the huge diamond on my finger. I don't mind the rickety old flat with dodgy heating, but I know I have to do this.
When the dessert menu arrives, Marcus waves it away before I can even look at it, as usual.
“She's moving in tonight,” he tells the waiter with an indulgent smile. “Wants to look her best.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I stare at my plate, at the half-eaten salmon I forced down, and try to breathe.
I don't actually like salmon. And who orders salmon at a restaurant known for the best damn pasta this side of Dublin?
Marcus smiles and rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “I can't believe you're mine,” he says, and part of me wonders why I should feel something, anything, other than a growing sense of dread.
What's my problem?
I know I can do this.
Can't I?
By the time we get back to the flat, it's nearly six. The sun hangs low over Ballyhock, painting everything gold and amber. It's beautiful and heartbreaking.
“I'll pick you up at nine,” Marcus says, idling at the curb. “That gives you three hours to finish packing. Should be plenty of time.”
“Marcus, I—”
“Don't forget to pack light. You won't need most of those old clothes anyway. We'll go shopping next week, get you a proper wardrobe.” His smile is warm and affectionate. He wants to spoil me… I know he does. He does spoil me. But I can't help but feel hurt when he thinks I need new clothes.
I know I'm the worst. He loves me. He wants me to look my best, that's all.
Marcus drives away, and I'm left standing on the pavement, staring up at the building I've called home for six years. The flat where I stayed up late reading by lamplight, where I drank tea with my friends, and Lancelot curled up on my lap while I studied.
The flat I'm leaving tonight.
“Right then,” Mam says, appearing beside me with her spare key. “Let's get you sorted, shall we?”
The next two hours pass in a blur of packing tape and cardboard boxes. Mam flutters around, folding clothes I've already folded, reorganizing things I've already organized.
“This is exciting,” she keeps saying. “Your new life. Finally.”
Finally, as if my old life was something to escape from.
By half eight, most of my things are packed. Books in boxes. Clothes in suitcases. My small collection of jewelry is wrapped carefully in tissue paper. The framed photo of Da goes in last, nestled between sweaters.
Lancelot watches from the bed, his tail flicking.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears. “I'll visit. I promise. Every week.”
He purrs, oblivious that this is goodbye. To Marcus, he's a nuisance, but the chubby tabby's been my most steady companion for years, and I'll miss him.
“I'll take good care of him,” Mam says softly from the doorway. “He'll be happy with me.”
But he won't be. Lancelot is my cat. He likes to be near me, follows me from room to room, and meows at the door when I come home. He'll think I've abandoned him.
“I should finish up,” I say, my voice thick. “Marcus will be here soon.”
Mam nods and slips out, closing the door behind her.
I stand in the middle of my nearly empty room, surrounded by boxes and bags, and try to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
This is what I want. This is what's best.
Isn't it?
I walk to the window, pushing it open to let in the cool evening air. The city sprawls before me, lights beginning to flicker on as dusk settles. Somewhere out there, Marcus is on his way. In thirty minutes, he'll be here in his beautiful car with staff to help carry my things.
And my life as I know it will end.
The breeze picks up, sudden and sharp, making me shiver. Above me, clouds slide across the sky, thick and dark. They swallow the moon whole, plunging the street below into shadow.