Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I nod. “I’m fine.”
“We don’t have to do the fortune-telling thing if you don’t want. My friend Maya never will, not even in Portsmouth, where the ladies at the witchy store are always the sweetest. She has a phobia that a fortune teller is going to foretell her doom and she’ll end up going insane and throwing herself into the sea.”
“I don’t have a phobia about a fortune teller foretelling my doom,” I say, forcing a smile. “I do need to go check in with the host in the dining area, however.” I motion toward the long table set up in a clearing in the fake cornfield near the stage where the band will start playing at nine. The table is filled with other people in ball gowns and suits, sipping white wine and coffee as they tuck into their dessert course.
“Oh, okay. Sure thing.” She starts that way, but I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“No, you go ahead, check out the fortune tellers. I’ll touch base with the host and meet you there.” I glance down at my watch. “We still have thirty minutes before they seat the second dinner service.”
She considers me for a moment, looking like she’s about to ask if I’m okay a second time. But in the end, she just nods and says, “Okay. I’ll see you there.”
I give her arm a light squeeze. “See you in a few.”
Then, I turn and stride quickly away across the room.
I just need a few moments to pull myself together and remember that tonight is for good times, good company, and fantastic, no-strings-attached sex. It isn’t for obsessing over what will happen when it’s time to leave Sea Breeze or getting swept up in some ridiculous feeling that isn’t even real.
It can’t be real.
It’s too fast, too intense. This surge of emotion is like a junk stock propped up by some Reddit chat board. It’s surging like crazy right now but will plummet just as quickly. Things that are built on unsteady foundations always do.
And a foundation can’t get much more unsteady than mine and Sully’s…
I dated her mother, destroyed her father, and permanently altered the course of her childhood and life. Her people hate me, with good reason, and my “people,” such that they are, consider her beneath them. I don’t care what the other Tripps think, but she would.
With both of our families against us, we’d never last. We’d end up isolated on my yacht, turning on each other. She’d resent me for making her a pariah in her own hometown, and I’d resent her for forcing me to stay in a place I loathe.
The reminders of how pointless this longing is helps ease the feeling. By the time I check in with the host, get our seat assignment—the far end of the communal table, as requested—and start back across the room to rejoin my date, I’m feeling more grounded than I was before.
Then I see her, Sully, crouched in front of a striking older woman with a bountiful collection of smile lines and silver-white hair, taking her picture.
Instantly, my stomach starts to churn all over again. And it isn’t even because Sully’s skirt has ridden up, revealing one toned, sexy thigh, nearly to the hip.
It’s the reverence on her face, the awed smile on her lips, the way she sees the beauty in this woman I know so many would have dismissed as unworthy of a second glance.
In an instant, I’m falling for her all over again, all my logical reasons for dismissing the emotion evaporating in the wave of warmth that fills my chest.
Looks like love isn’t something that can be managed by logic.
I’m in uncharted territory, guided only by the burning certainty that this woman is worth striking out into a scary new world.
She’s worth just about anything…
chapter 15
GERTIE
I’m so busy snapping Effie’s portrait—capturing her incredible face, crystal ball, and the blurred tent behind her from different angles, and wishing I had my camera with me, instead of just my phone—that I don’t realize Weaver is behind me.
It isn’t until Effie grins, showcasing her missing tooth on the upper right side, and says—“Well hello there, you must be Gertrude’s fellow. What a lucky man.”—that I emerge from my shot-hunting haze.
I glance over my shoulder as I stand, an apology on my lips for going into full feral photographer mode in the middle of a classy ballroom, but Weaver doesn’t look annoyed.
He looks…moved, the same way I felt when I saw Effie sitting here with her peaceful smile and dark brown eyes full of all the secrets of the universe.
The realization makes me ridiculously happy, even though I’ve been around the man enough by now to know that he isn’t nearly as cold as he pretends to be. But I just love that he sees the beauty other people miss. I love that he sees it in Effie.