Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
But this—being ready and waiting for Oliver Mason to pick me up—also feels pretty damn good.
“That’s what I thought,” Lisbeth says, hopping on my bed and propping herself up against my pillows. “And, for the record, I fully support this. All of it.”
I turn back to the mirror and look at myself again. I’m radiant. I hate that word. I’ve never understood it when models utter it on television commercials. You’ll feel radiant, they say as they whip their perfectly styled long hair away from the camera and pose.
Maybe I don’t hate it. Maybe I just didn’t understand it until now.
I straighten my shoulders and take a long, deep breath.
“What are you thinking?” Lisbeth asks.
“That I thought you were supposed to be at a wedding tonight.”
She fake coughs. “Didn’t you know I’m sick?”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m going in the morning,” she says with a defeated sigh. “My flight leaves at ten. I told Lydia that I came down with something and would miss the first two days of the brouhaha.”
I laugh and turn to face her. “It’s a wedding, not a brouhaha.”
“Feels like a brouhaha. But don’t think I don’t see what you did there—changing the subject on me.”
I wrinkle my nose so I don’t have to lie to her. It would be pointless. I did change the subject, and we were both here to witness it.
“This is … a lot for you,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “I mean that nicely.”
“I know you do.”
“And, as your best friend in the whole wide world, it’s my job to make sure you’re loved and supported.” She grins. “So tell me what you’re thinking? What are you feeling? Gush. Get goopy with me.”
This time, I wrinkle my nose to express my displeasure.
She giggles. “I love you even though you refuse to talk about your feelings.”
“I talk about them. I just don’t get silly about them.”
“It’s fun to get silly about them. Pour your heart out. Cry a little. Eat an entire pint of ice cream and wallow in your feels. Get goopy, baby,” she says with a grin.
It’s my turn to laugh. “That should be on a T-shirt, but no, I won’t. I’m good.”
She groans as she sits up.
I take a bracelet out of my jewelry box and slide it over my wrist. It’s a delicate strand of blush-pink and diamond-like gems. It’s the only nice piece of jewelry that I own and, I only have it because my grandmother gave it to me just before she died. I was fourteen. Ma told me she’d given everything she had in her life to her only child—my mother. And she wanted me to have the one thing she’d held on to that was worth anything.
She also told me not to tell my mother that I had it. I never did.
I admire the bracelet and think about my feelings—the real ones. The deep ones. The ones that sit below the excitement of playing Barbie and waiting for Oliver.
The truth is that my emotions are all garbled. Half of them are on a high from his touch, his kisses, and the way he looks at me. The other half are cowering, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
The only relationship I’ve had before Oliver—not that what Oliver and I have is a relationship—was Luca. And Luca started out like a storybook hero. He was a gentleman. He was kind. He showered me with gifts and compliments as though I was a prize he had won. That fairy-tale beginning ended like a Lifetime movie.
Even though I trust Oliver, and despite knowing that this whole adventure is good for me, I’m still a bit wobbly. There’s more … risk. And now that I’ve had a taste of Oliver’s passion, added to that list is … me.
“I’m not making the wrong decision about this, am I?” I ask, my heart beating so fast that I think I might have to sit down.
A flash of fear dances across Lisbeth’s face. “What? No. Talk.” She scrambles to the edge of the bed. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, my hair swishing against my shoulders. “I just …” I close my eyes and compose myself. I will not cry. “Things have been so good, almost too good, and I’ve been playing with a bit of fire, don’t you think?”
I open my eyes to see Lisbeth watching me.
“I think you’re living your life,” she says softly. “I think that’s head and shoulders better than you were six weeks ago.”
She’s right—to an extent. I have felt more like the me that I used to be lately. But …
“But it’s because of Oliver,” I say. “And if he has the power to make me happy, then he also has the power to—”
“No. You’re wrong.” She walks across the room and takes my hands in hers. “You are the one with the power, Shaye. Not him. You let him in. You controlled the access, and you did it because you saw something in him that was worth opening up for.”