Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Auntie Stahduh!” he cooed, flinging his Pillsbury arms.
I felt my heart swelling in my chest, a grin spreading all over my face.
“How’s my favorite boy?”
“Gooood,” he drawled.
“I’ll let you guys talk.” Nat picked Ziggy up and ushered him to take a bath.
I wanted to protest and ask for more Ziggy time, but knew I needed to talk to my brother. Craig remained seated, pulling at his light brown hair. He looked so tired I wanted to wrap my arms around him in a suffocating hug. I was a notorious hugger, but he was…well, not.
Lucas was standing in the corner of the room, running his palm through the different fabrics of my next dress. It was a dark green number with black lace cleavage. I was just about to finish it and start on The Paris Dress, the project for the Halloween event at the chateau. I wasn’t even supposed to know about it, but now that I did, it was the only thing I looked forward to on the tour.
Part of me wanted to ask Lucas for privacy, but that seemed rude when he was lending me his laptop—and had only ever treated me with kindness. “How’re you holding up today?” I asked Craig.
“Our day just started. Ask me again in twelve hours. How about you?”
“Good,” I lied.
Today marked the anniversary of our parents’ death. Four years ago, we got the call and rushed to the hospital. We’d really thought Mom was going to make it, but the internal bleeding had won the battle. Dad, on the other hand, had stood no chance. He’d died on impact, and his body had been sent straight to the morgue. Craig had refused to let me see him. I was mad at him for years, but now I got it. Apparently, the car nailed him to a tree before fleeing the scene.
“I hope you’re not going to act all crazy and angry today. Nat and Zig don’t deserve it.”
Craig sighed, running his hands through his hair some more. The accident had changed him more than it had changed me, because he was the one who’d had to drop out of college, find a job, and pay the bills. I was the same person with a broken heart. He was a broken person who’d begun to act like he had none. He didn’t mean to resent me for it, but it didn’t take a genius to know he did.
“I’ll try to make an effort.” He placed his elbows on his desk, knotting his fingers behind his head. The accident was a hit-and-run. If tragedy had a face, at least we could hate it. I wasn’t the feel-sorry-for-myself type. Even when it was evident that with less than stellar grades and non-existent funds, the closest I’d ever get to college was if I cleaned one. I didn’t care that my destiny had been written for me. I edited the bastard. And, frankly, up until Clara had retired and sold Thrifty, I’d been content with my small life. Craig, on the other hand, didn’t like staying small. Especially since he’d been on the verge of making it to the NFL before tragedy struck our family.
And that was why I hated alcohol. There was no chance the person behind the wheel had been sober. There just wasn’t. Which made Craig’s affair with alcohol drive me even more insane.
“Thanks,” I whispered. “Be strong for them, okay? Nat’s given up on a lot to be with you.”
“So you keep reminding me. Constantly.”
Lucas was coughing from the corner of the room, and that was my cue to end the conversation.
“Is that Mr. Coked Up?” Craig’s eyes lit for the first time since we’d started the conversation, but he was more excited by the idea of insulting a celebrity than being starstruck. “Did I just hear Alex Winslow cough?”
“Nope.” I flushed red from the mere idea of Alex walking around in my suite. “It’s Lucas, his drummer. He loaned me his laptop.”
“Right.” Craig’s voice dropped down to its usual arctic chill. “Anyway, hope you’re done with your annual crying fest.”
“I am,” I confirmed. I wanted to say something more, to end the conversation on a positive note, but the connection was cut from his side and I ended up staring back at a blue screen.
Lucas appeared next to me, squeezing my shoulder. No words needed to be spoken, and I found myself pressing my cheek to his hand, closing my eyes.
He was there.
He was nice to me.
He understood.
And for the first time since I’d left US soil, I was still alone, but somehow, together.
The whole world felt different that night. Like a wonky picture on an otherwise naked wall. Life was illuminated in a way that only tragedy brings out. Being an orphan wasn’t just a state, it was a feeling, a type of baggage, and maybe even a personality trait.