Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“I don’t under . . .” And then I stopped trying because there was a table set up, just beyond, at the pinnacle of a hill. Pialto and Sophie were there. Elijah too. My breath caught in my throat. “What’s this?”
Pialto clutched a bouquet of pink roses. Sophie held a champagne bottle, a giant-size one that was in danger of being dropped.
Elijah had a towel over his arm, like he was a waiter.
“One last stop.” Ashton led me over to the table.
Sophie was crying and beaming as she pulled out my chair.
Ashton helped me into it.
She went and pulled his out next.
Pialto moved in. “These are for you, but I know you’re going to worry about a vase right away, so I’ll take them to the kitchen and handle it. You”—his eyes jerked to Ashton—“stay here and enjoy.”
He left, and Elijah took the champagne bottle from Sophie. Opening it, he tipped it enough to fill both our drinks. After that, as Sophie was blushing, and giggling, and mouthing, “OMG!” to me, he nudged her to go with them. Both went inside.
Avery came out, coming from a door not far from us, with the first course of food.
“What is going on?” I couldn’t get over this, any of this.
We had the first course, then the second. Dessert came last, and I was stuffed. A sweet leaf salad. Potato gratin. Seasonal vegetables. Vegetable cavatappi. Salmon. Torta Rogel, and I was dying. I was so full, and then all the champagne.
I was a full giggling mess by the last course. It was also long past sundown. By the time dessert came out, the stars were up.
I was in heaven.
“Ashton, you’ve still not told me what’s going on.”
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes somber, a faint smile lingering.
Everyone had come out to say their goodbyes. We were officially alone in this new place, big enough to be called a compound.
A flash of fear crossed his face before it was gone again. “You asked me a long time ago about what happened at the compound.”
I sat up straight. “Jess and Trace’s wedding.”
He nodded, his face closing off.
“Trace said something happened to you that day, that you were shaking.”
His eyes flickered before whatever emotion that surged forward was blanketed again. “I told you that I hated my mother, but I never told you why.”
I let out a slow breath of air, knowing, just knowing, we were going down a delicate path.
“You know my mother was an addict, but you don’t know the extent of it. Or what else happened the night before our mothers died.” He stared off into the distance. “My grandfather refused to give her money. She’d been trying all day to get it. She went to him. He said no. She went to my uncles. They all said no. She went to me. Her son. I said no. The last person she went to was my grandmother. She was strong, fierce, but she had a heart of gold. We were at the compound that day.” He turned, looking at me now. There was pain there, but also grief and relief. His shoulders smoothed down. “My grandmother’s health had already started getting bad, but my mom, she . . . beat my grandmother. I think she asked her for money, for the drugs.”
“Ashton.”
He shook his head. “I’m the only one who knew the truth what happened that night. We were at the compound, so the normal amount of security wasn’t there. They were outside. We thought it was safe. I was there with my abuela. Grandfather got called away for a meeting, which was normal, but my mom came. She wasn’t supposed to be there. I thought she’d been in the city, but she drove up. She was looking for money. I heard the screams and ran in, but my abuela was already on the ground. Bleeding. My mom was standing over her, holding a knife and my grandmother’s purse. She didn’t hear me come in. She thought I was in one of the other sections of the place. We have a family safe there, and my mom was demanding the code. My abuela wouldn’t give it.” His words were so bitter, clipping out, “She wasn’t happy with the money Abuela had in her purse.”
I reached for his hand.
“I grabbed a gun. I knew where there was one, and I pulled it on her. Threatened her. Told her to get the fuck out of there before I pulled the trigger. She left. She made one of the guards drive her to the city. I didn’t care where she went. I just wanted her the fuck out of there, but Abuela. She didn’t want anyone to know what happened, and she was so weak. She made me lift her body so it’d look like she fell down the stairs. That’s the story she gave. We didn’t have security cameras inside the house back then, and I never said a word. I promised Abuela I wouldn’t tell, but I also wouldn’t actively lie for her either. But Abuela, she still loved my mother, even though she’d been hurt so bad that she needed to be airlifted to the hospital in the city. We got word what happened to my mom, and my grandfather called me to the office to tell me. My mom didn’t just kill your mom that night. The beating, it was the straw that broke my abuela. She died three weeks later. I’ve always blamed my mother.