Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Just to prove a point, I struggle for twenty minutes to wrap this cast in a trash bag so I can take a shower, letting the water pummel the top of my head. With my eyes closed, my hair flattens to my forehead as the water runs down my face and body.
Shuffling through an extensive list of things to do, Delaney interjects herself right between follow-up emails and getting some suits altered to accommodate this cast. Why does it feel like she’s pulling the wool over my eyes and loving every minute? How can I remember so much of my life, basically all of it except hours involving the accident, but have no recollection of my wife? Staggeringly impossible.
I finish up, slip on some clothes, and then remember to take my meds. I lift the lid off the coffee just to see if she did match it to my soul. I shouldn’t grin, but I do. I even chuckle. Whether she’s my wife or someone putting in a lot of effort, Delaney really is something else.
The apartment is too quiet, which is the opposite of what I typically prefer. I’ll blame the concussion for turning on background music, and I move down the hall to my office. I don’t have a phone, but I have my computer.
Sitting down at the desk, the monitor lights up for me. I scroll through the messages, some popping out more than others. Jocelyn and Jimmy specifically. I click one to read a panicked message from my assistant. “Unlike you.” Scanning further, I mumble, “Are you okay?”
I reply that I appreciate her concern. I was in an accident, but I’ll be in the office on Monday and can explain in more detail then. I click on Jimmy’s next. I reply the same, and that I’ll contact him from the office tomorrow.
Glad to hear someone was concerned about my absence.
The other emails compete with images of Delaney popping into my head to fight for my attention. She’s winning, which I’m positive would thrill her. Me? Not so much.
I probably should have read the directions on the pill containers. It’s too late now as drowsiness takes hold of me. My eyelids grow heavy, so I stumble into the bedroom and crash onto the bed.
As I lie there, sleep is about to drag me under, and all I can think about is I bet she knew this would happen. She’d be thrilled to knock me out. But more importantly, is she coming back?
CHAPTER 9
Delaney
I screwed up.
As his wife, I should know he has siblings. Though I don’t think he caught my flub, he can’t be trusted. The wrong slipup could cost me everything. He’s intelligent and quick, even with a concussion, but hoo-daddy, he really needs to work on his patience. He has absolutely none. And I’m trying hard not to dwell on his anger issues. I think I’ve discovered limits he didn’t know he had.
I need to try harder to stay on his good side.
“I love it,” I reply, holding my hand up in front of me and looking at the cubic zirconia shine like a diamond on my ring finger. “I’ll take it.”
“Would you like me to put it in a bag for you, Delaney?” Darla has been more than helpful, and the best part is she’ll keep my secret. Just one of the benefits of growing up in Clinton Hill. New York is a big place, but our little neighborhood is still cozy and welcoming, especially for the locals.
“I’m going to wear it.”
She rings me up and gives me a discount because we do the same when she comes into the restaurant. It’s just what neighbors do for each other.
I throw away the receipt as soon as I see a trash can on the street. No evidence. I check out the ring again, finding myself smiling too big, considering it’s fake and all part of this charade. But still, I like it. It’s dainty with the thin gold-ish band and the sweet little diamond. Would this be the ring Mr. Tribeca would buy me? If we were dating for real, I think he’d get the ring I wanted, not just one that shows off his wealth. That’s probably why we’d never work out. Money wafts, like he was born to emit the scent of wealth. Although I do really love that soap he uses. Pure money, baby.
The smell of fresh garlic bread reaches my nose before the restaurant comes into view. Before crossing the street, I tuck the ring into a pocket inside my purse, then look both ways before taking another step. I have no intention of ending up like Warner did.
Bayetti’s Italian Eatery has been a neighborhood staple for three generations. Plenty of celebrities have visited over the years. We've also attracted our fair share of tourists since being named on a “Best of” list ten years ago, but it’s the locals' support that keeps us here. Unfortunately, the restaurant has really started to show its age. The green script above the door has faded with time. The gold script painted on the large front window is flaked. The thick wood trim around the windows could use a new coat of red paint. The brick could even benefit from a power washing along with the sidewalk out front, but it’s never felt so good to come home.