Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
"Did that just happen?" I ask, then my eyes focus on one of the pictures that is lying on the floor, the one of him with Edward on his chest.
"It happened,” Presley confirms, getting up and walking over to the bottle of scotch that Shelby left at the bar. "I'm not even going to lie about it." She walks back to the couch, pouring another shot in my empty glass. "I would have bet my life that this wedding was going to be perfect."
"Oh my God.” Shelby gasps. "It can still happen." I turn my head and my eyebrows pinch together. "What?" she shrieks out. "I don't know what you're thinking."
"What she's thinking is that motherfucker,” Presley says, drinking a shot from the bottle. "That is what she is thinking."
"Okay, can we all take a minute,” Shelby suggests, getting up now and looking at us. "What are you thinking?" she asks me.
"I'm numb," I admit honestly. "Totally and completely numb."
"That's a start,” Shelby says. "But what else?"
"I need to talk to him." I swallow now and turn to look at Presley. "Someone needs to go get him."
"Um…" Presley gets up. "What are we going to say?"
"I don't care what you say." I get up now, and my knees give out again, and I sit back down. "I don't give a shit if you have to drag him here." My legs start to shake nervously.
"I'm going to distract Mom,” Shelby states. "You"—she points at Presley—"you go get him."
Presley doesn't say anything; instead, she just nods her head. "And you…" She points at me. "You just…" She shakes her finger at Presley to see if she is going to give her some sort of encouragement, but all Presley does is shake her head. "You sit there and try to calm down."
"Oh, surprising." I look at both of them. "I'm fucking calm. Calm as a fucking cucumber."
"This is going to be very, very bad,” Presley says, walking toward the door. "I'd prefer it if you were trashing the place and throwing things around." She opens the door. "This is almost like premeditated murder status."
"Can you not,” Shelby grits with clenched teeth, "give her ideas." She huffs and walks over to the door, pushing Presley out. The sound of them bickering as they walk away from the room. I get up slowly, walking over to the pictures in the middle of the room. I pick them up and then walk back to the couch, sitting down to wait for him. I go through the pictures again, once, twice, three times. Each and every single time, the pain in my chest dulls as the anger starts to set in.
There is a soft knock on the door, and I take a deep breath as the door opens, and Edward sticks his head in. "Oh my God, Clarabella," he says, walking inside of the room. He's wearing his black tux, and his hair is perfectly styled. "Presley said you were hurt." I hold up my hand to stop him from taking another step toward me. He stops in his tracks as a look of worry and confusion fills his face. "Are you okay?"
My eyes look straight into his as I say the words. "I know about Louise,” I declare, and the color drains from his face. "And about Edward."
He opens his mouth and whispers, "I can explain."
"This I would love to hear," I say, my heart beating fast in my chest, and I hold the pictures in my hands. "Please explain to me how you had a child with a woman while engaged to me?"
"It's not what it seems," he starts to say, and if this wasn't happening to me, I would laugh out loud and scream bullshit.
"It never is what it seems," I reply, my voice a lot calmer than I thought it would be. "Please enlighten me."
"Louise and I," he starts to say, and as I look at him, everything in me wants to just walk out of this room and not give him the time of day, but when I do walk out of this room, it's going to be with everything on the table. "I dated her a while ago."
"So you weren't at her house last week?" I ask, and he just stares at me. "Okay, well, since you aren't going to tell me the truth…" The anger starts to seep out of me now, the hurt being pushed down. "Because well, you probably don't know how. I'm just going to lay out the facts that I know,” I state. He puts one hand in his pocket, and the other holds the back of his neck.
"Clarabella," he pleads.
"Did you or did you not have a baby one month ago?" I hold up the picture of him and Louise in the hospital. He doesn't say anything, and I almost laugh, but instead, I just continue. “Did you or did you not lie to me about going away on a business trip, but instead, you were helping care for your son?" I hold up the second picture. "I mean, I don't even know how you can even spin this." I shake my head.