Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
I love it all. And I love my little family.
I’ve had a good day. A fruitful day. A day digging for dirt. And it turns out my brother’s fiancée is the daughter of a preacher man. Not any old humble preacher, but the owner of a mega church in Texas, the kind that might make a list on Forbes if it wasn’t for the fact their dealings are shrouded in mystery. A church with multiple campuses and its own dedicated TV channel and with tens of thousands of members, each more faithful than the last, and each more generous.
Owning a mega church must be like winning the lottery every Sunday, watching those coffers roll in. While Melly was attractive, I now see where my brother’s devotion truly comes from.
And right there is a bargaining chip.
He’s not going to risk losing that.
Dropping the donuts on the countertop, I’m whistling a happy tune to myself, because that’s how I feel, when I hear something drop to the floor from somewhere deeper in the apartment. I’m pretty sure it’s not the cleaning crew’s day and Annie, the old housekeeper, is visiting her sister in Long Island. I know because I sent a car to take her.
“Fee?” I call, my footsteps echoing though the hallway.
“I’m just in the bathroom.” As I walk into our bedroom, her answer comes from the adjoining bathroom. Our bedroom was her bedroom, the master bedroom lying abandoned in favour of the one next to Lulu’s room. The princess suite. That’s not to say Fee and I haven’t had use for the master bathroom with its bath big enough for two.
A hot bath and a couple of fingers is just the thing to help you wind down with.
That’s what I’d said to her that night I found her floating like an ethereal Goldilocks in my tub. When there are two in a tub, a couple of fingers are only the start of getting things hot.
“You okay in there?” Pulling off my sweater, I abandon it to the chair.
“I . . .I’ll just be a minute.”
The poor woman sounds fucking awful.
“Was it the squid?” I call out, thinking about the Vietnamese we had for dinner last night. I wasn’t touching the squid and remember distinctly warning her against it.
“No,” comes an unsure sounding response.
“I bought Lulu donuts,” I call back, not exactly shouting but pitching my voice to be heard as I drop to the bed. “I hope that’s okay but they’re kind of a thank you to her for protecting my virtue in the schoolyard.” I begin to describe the encounter, stretched out against the mattress, my feet crossed at the ankles, my hands behind my head. “. . . I can’t believe the woman was so brazen. Who hits on someone in the fucking schoolyard, while he’s standing there holding a little girl’s hand?” She just sidled up to me, and started asking me all kinds of unsubtle questions, flicking her goddamn hair. “Lulu was hilarious and totally had my back when the woman had said something I didn’t quite catch she piped up with, “I’m sorry my Daddy didn’t hear you,” I say, pitching my voice higher as though someone has a hold of my balls, “but he was too busy not listening. Maybe you should please not repeat it again.” It’s was the most polite version of fuck off I’ve ever heard!”
I begin to cackle seeing her sassy little expression again. The kids is an original, all right. A one off. Her own fucking person and I can’t wait to see her take on the world.
I turn my head towards the bathroom door when it clicks open.
“Hey! Oh, fuck. You look awful.” Swinging my legs off the bed, I stride across the room when I notice she has her makeup bag in her hand. “You can’t think you’re going back to work, angel.”
“No. I . . . I’m not.” Her ribs expand with a sharp inhale. “I’m not going back to work because—”
I catch sight of Lulu’s pink suitcase, Fee’s larger silver one standing next to it. My brain immediately rejects the suggestion that she’s overpacked for our weekend away. My jaw tightens. I only know what the fucking bags look like because I’d recently sat on this very bed and watched her unpack.
“What’s going on?” I ask dumbly. Feeling fucking dumb at any rate, pushing away the realisation that something here is very fucking wrong because that’s not a makeup bag in her hand. It’s a wash bag. And those are tears running down her face. No one cries like that because of bad squid.
“No.” Fear zips down my spine as my brain acknowledges what’s going on. The logical part of it, anyway. The emotional part of is too fucking distraught to deal as I step closer to take her in my hands. My arms. To hold her and never let her the fuck go.