Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Number one—no going anywhere in public together. Too risky. Number two—no meeting each other’s families, friends, and colleagues, keeping everything completely separate.”
“Agreed. Number three—no L words. Either of them,” I added.
“There are two of them?”
“Like is a word too.”
She nodded, her expression matter of fact. “And number four—if one of us meets someone else, the other will step aside without any guilt trips or trying to convince the other to change their mind. This is supposed to be temporary, after all.”
I felt like I wanted to punch something, preferably the faceless asshole who was going to steal my precious moments with her. Nevertheless, I conceded. “Fair. Anything else?”
“Yes, in fact.” Arya cleared her throat. “On the day the trial ends, so will our relationship. We will not have an official breakup conversation. Those are messy and entirely unnecessary. I will simply expect to see my precious hard copy of Atonement back in my mailbox, carefully wrapped, whole and safe.”
She offered me her hand. We shook on it. That gave me at least two more weeks of Arya.
And that was all I needed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ARYA
Present
I met my mother three days later, at a bookshop, while purchasing a new copy of Atonement. She breezed in, carrying the scent of expensive hair spray from the blow-dry she’d just gotten.
Beatrice Roth air-kissed me twice on each cheek, like we were bridge-club acquaintances, and sniffed around the small bookshop like someone had forgotten an unattended bag of garbage here.
“How quaint. I didn’t even know a place like this existed in this part of town. The rent must be astronomical.”
“You know, you can donate toward their rent online. I’ll send you the link. I have a direct deposit for that.”
“Oh, honey. Your trust fund guilt is adorable.” She dared ruffling my hair, like we were close or something.
Reconnecting with my mother after years of radio silence was definitely not everything Hallmark movies promised me it would be.
I walked around the narrow paths bracketed with shelves, swinging my shopping basket. I might have added three or four more books into the mix. In my defense, I worked hard for my money. On top of that, I was also getting a little restless. I’d been to Christian’s apartment two days before. It was everything I’d expected it to be—modern, gorgeous, and clinically cold—and I’d tried to look for my copy of Atonement but couldn’t find it anywhere. And it wasn’t like there were many hiding places to choose from. The place was pretty much empty. I did spot a safe in his walk-in closet, but Christian, who was still in bed, haphazardly covered with his linen, had let out a low chuckle when he’d seen me caressing the safe’s lock, staring at the numbers.
“It’s not there, Ari. I would never be as predictable.”
“How’s Conrad doing?” I asked my mother, who trailed behind me, trying to convince myself I didn’t particularly care about the answer. I did, though. I cared a lot. It was a source of shame and annoyance to me that I couldn’t hate him all the way. That he was going to lose most of his fortune to legal fees and compensation.
“I don’t know. He keeps to himself, and I stay in my corner of the penthouse. Frankly, I’m starting to get a bit worried about what’s going to happen the day of.” Mom pulled a book out of the shelf, realized it was a little dusty, and then shoved it back in, her face filled with horror and disgust.
“Why? Does he seem mentally unstable to you?” I slanted my head, studying her.
She patted her hands clean, looking at me incredulously. “What? No. I’m talking about the financial state he is going to leave me in.” She shuddered at the thought. “I might have to sell the penthouse.”
“Good.” I slipped another book into my basket. A new one, by a debut author. I just liked the cover. It also looked like the kind of romance that would rip my heart into shreds and put the rest of me in a blender. “The penthouse was far too big for three people. Let alone just the one.”
“But what about Aaron?” my mother asked, scandalized. “I live so close to the cemetery.”
“He’ll stay at his place, naturally.” I headed for the register. I knew I was being sarcastic but couldn’t help myself. The sheer self-obsession this woman was suffering from maddened me. Last time we’d met, she’d told me life was too short. Now, she was whining about the possibility of downgrading from one of the priciest places on the continent.
“Look, can I do anything to help you?” I sighed, choosing not to turn this into an argument while handing the bookshop owner, a nice lady with a gray mane, my basket.
“Yes, actually. I was thinking maybe you could talk to your dad—”