Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“You’re mine. You will always be mine.”
But for all the wrong reasons.
“Tod will never break my heart.” I press my head to his chest, inhaling a sob. I want to hurt him. Fuck him. Kiss and strangle him all at the same time.
“Because your heart belongs to me.”
“Not anymore.”
His voice bleeds my name as I press my palms flat to his chest. “Stop. I can’t do this.”
Raif halts, his body retracting from mine—just an inch. “Please don’t do this.”
My chest heaves like I’ve been running, my arms trembling as I push. “I can’t. Not anymore.”
Can’t cope. Can’t breathe. Can’t give in to this misery.
He staggers, his eyes bright and wild, hair such a mess. “Lavender, please.”
“It’s over. I can’t love you anymore.”
He doesn’t stop me this time as I turn for the door.
45
RAIF
“So then he said his favorite was in Costa Rica.”
“His favorite Four Seasons is in Costa Rica?” I repeat as I rub my hand across the dark stubble of my jaw. I’d only been half listening. Something I’m an expert at these days.
“Yes.” Daisy's response is a surly huff as her brows pull together. “And I told him, ‘Rupert, the lesson is about the weather, not hotels.’”
“I see. What I don’t see is how that can mean you have a note in your diary.”
The diary is the school’s system for communicating any daily incidences or occurrences they feel parents (or caregivers) should know about. Like this one, apparently. A first for Daisy.
Leo opens the car door, and she hops inside.
“Because then Rupert said I didn’t know what I was talking about because his dad told him my dad is probably a cokehead. I told him he drinks beer, not Coke, and that might give him cavities, but it doesn’t make him a bad person.”
“That’s true,” I say, trying not to smile. It’s the other shit that makes him a deadbeat.
“Then that snot-nosed ginger Rupert said I can’t be very bright because my dad is just a DJ, not the president of a bank like his.”
“And?”
Her gaze narrows, her cheeks turn red, and her hands clench into little fists. “And I wish you’d never called him and made him come to my school because his talk was boring and stupid, and I hate ginger Rupert, and that’s why there’s a note in my diary because I called him Rupert-poopert when I stomped on his foot when what I really wanted to do was punch him in the belly!” She takes a breath. Finally.
“Okay. I understand.” I rub my hand across my mouth as I avoid Leo’s gaze over the roof of the car because, oof! That was some clearing of venom. “Do you think you might have overreacted a little?” I ask as I crouch, bringing my gaze level with hers. Not that it matters as she refuses to look my way.
She folds her arms as she utters, “No, I really don’t.”
“It seems to me you just have a lot of feelings right now.” Daisy has found her voice since Lavender left. In fact, I wonder if Lavender left her voice because sometimes the pair sound eerily similar. Of course, seven is a little young to discover disappointment in a parent. And an uncle, all in the same week. Daisy blames me for Lavender leaving, as she should. And now it’s my fault her father is boring.
Life just keeps getting better and better.
Suddenly, blue eyes turn my way, a sphynx in pigtails. “I do have a lot of feelings and most of them are not very nice.” She inhales. “I don’t like Ella. I want you to send her away.”
“You have to give her a chance.”
“I want Lavender to come back.”
I recently discovered that a heart pang is an actual thing—a visceral feeling of emotional distress. It’s like my heart contracts every time I hear Lavender’s name—every time a memory or a thought swims into my head.
“Sweetheart,” I say on a sigh. “I can’t make her come back.” Because, if I could, I already would have.
What a plan I’d made, the revenge I’d managed so meticulously. Marry Brin Whittington’s sister as revenge, use every opportunity to make him feel fucking awful. Let him imagine all sorts of depravities and wonder when I’d kick her to the curb. When the reality was, our deal was to be good for us both. At the end of the twelve months, I’d have Daisy and Lavender would be reasonably wealthy. She’d have freedom, I suppose. Instead, the trap I’d fashioned for Brin snared me, snapping shut on my heart.
Which is no more than I deserve.
“I want to go to Whit & With—to the gallery.”
“We can’t, not today.” This time, my heart plummets because there’s no “we” about those visits. Daisy goes after school some days to see Primrose and Lavender. And Tod. But I’m not welcome. That much has been made crystal clear.