Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
How she laughs with the women, talks breezily and bows toward every person at the dining table. Making all of them feel like they’re her sole focus.
Those women are deserving of her gaze.
And Jane doesn’t realize just how much she can make people feel loved in a single glance. My mom has a hand on Jane’s arm while they talk into brighter laughter.
My grandma’s rosy cheeks are in a perpetual smile, and Nicola, my stepmom, sees me watching and mouths, we love her.
I thought she’d fit in, but seeing it happen is something else. Surreal. Overwhelming. Conflicting—because I shouldn’t be emotionally invested in this picture.
It’s supposed to only happen one time. One fucking time.
That’s all we get.
My mom catches my gaze and shoos me with the swat of her hand. Her words are inaudible from the ear-splitting commotion around me. But I read her lips: Go, go.
I rotate. Just slightly. Standing near the coffee pot, Banks and I still tower but not as much here. Most men are tall and in occupations that require us to stay fit. Bodies built.
Multiple conversations are happening at once, and I tune into the closest one. Talking about car trackers. They think paparazzi bugged my mom’s vehicle.
“How else could they’ve known she’d be at the bank?”
Guilt tries to ride me like a fucking buck-toothed hitchhiker. Don’t let it. I knew the risks of going public.
I cut in, “Paparazzi probably followed her from the shop. Her job is public information.” My mom used to be a bookkeeper at an auto mechanic shop. Until they finally let her, a woman, work as a mechanic.
“Are we sure?” Uncle Joe asks.
Banks fists a beer. “I already checked her vehicle. I didn’t find anything.”
The louder voices overtake our talk. We turn our heads.
“Youse been making toasts all fuckin’ night.”
“I don’t see you making any.”
“Because youse been doin’ ‘em all!”
“Statazitt’!” many guys yell, telling them to shut up.
The corners of my mouth almost rise. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I uncross my arms and grab my cell.
One of my uncles squeezes through and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Why aren’t youse drinking? Your girl brought over an expensive bottle of wine.” Plus flowers for my mom, stepmom, and grandma. My grandma pinched Jane’s cheeks and hugged her for a full minute, and I’m sure it’ll be longer when we leave.
Banks answers, “He doesn’t want to drink for a while.”
“For the job,” I add. For her protection. I unlock my phone and read a text from the Alpha lead—my stern demeanor darkens. Eyes narrowing like barrels of a gun.
We have an official breakup date. Op ends the day after Halloween. The reason will be she didn’t get along with your family. Leave the dinner in separate vehicles. Farrow is picking her up. – Price
They want me to put my family on fucking blast in the media. To be a fucking scapegoat in order to end the fake dating op.
No.
Hell no.
I rake my hand across my hardened jaw. Hardly blinking. Just cussing a hundred times over in my head. Until my brain is fucking overloaded with fucks and goddammits and mannaggias.
I text back: using my family as the reason for the breakup will endanger them.
He responds fast.
We’ve discussed this with a publicist. They said it’s minimal blowback. Your family will be safe. – Price
I’m yelling at the top of my lungs internally. But really I’m stoic. Painfully still. Silent. Veins bulge in my tensed neck.
Banks comes close, ripping my phone out of my fist.
He reads the text.
I lower my voice so only he can hear. “They fucked me.” My nose flares. “Or maybe I fucked me.” I’m the one who made the request to bring Jane to meet my family. Full well knowing it’d be for the op.
A public ploy. Paparazzi asked Jane where she was going before we left. She said, “To meet my boyfriend’s family.”
I just never imagined security would push further and use this for the breakup.
I have to tell Jane.
This is going to hurt her—and I don’t want to follow through with this fucking order. For too many reasons.
Banks is pissed. Less pissed than me, but still fucking pissed. “They couldn’t have told us at the last meeting before you brought her here?”
It feels like Price and Sinclair are punishing me. Akara couldn’t have known. He warned me that he had a bad feeling and that those two were leaving him out of some discussions.
My family here can sense that I’m upset. The men start looking over in concern, and Uncle Joe is the one who approaches.
Banks slips my phone in my pocket and backs up. Uncle Joe puts an arm around my strict shoulders. He’s the only one as tall as us.
His hoarse voice is consoling as he says, “Whadda you so angry about, huh?”