Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
As soon as Ezra comes back.
I’ve been in constant contact with him this whole time, mostly texting and a couple of phone calls here and there. I usually make sure that Ledger isn’t around when that happens. I don’t want him to get suspicious or agitated, especially when in a way there’s nothing to get agitated about.
Yes, I am going to marry him but no, there isn’t anything between us nor there ever will ever be.
But anyway, so far things haven’t gone well for him in Korea and he’s had to extend his trip. Which to be honest, I’m actually very thrilled about. I’m not looking forward to resuming duping him once he does come back. Plus now I have something else to tell him as well and I have no idea how he’s going to react to my happy news.
I’ve decided to stress about all that later though.
The only good thing in all of this is that my dad can’t say the same.
A couple of times that I have talked to him these past few weeks, he’s sounded angry and agitated. And for once, not at me but at Ezra’s father. Who apparently is insisting on hiring a third-party appraiser of his choice. Turns out, when one company buys another company, the buyer brings in an appraiser to evaluate the value of the company they’re buying. Which of course makes sense, but since my dad’s company is in shambles, he’d very cunningly convinced Mr. Vandekamp to use the appraiser of my dad’s choice who was going to spin the whole thing in my dad’s favor. But now Mr. Vandekamp is having second thoughts.
Go Mr. Vandekamp! Even though he’s a homophobic piece of shit.
So anyway, my dad’s dealing with that and for once, the heat’s off my back.
But all that still doesn’t mean that I get to stay here.
In my safe space.
With the guy who makes me feel safe.
I’m not sure how visible they are, my frantic thoughts and my active imagination, on my face. But I still try to school my features when he turns around. Then in a wooden tone, he asks, “Talk about what.”
“A-are you sure you want to go on a run?” I ask instead. “I-I mean, you’re all banged up and —”
“What’s there to talk about?”
Damn it.
Now that I’ve broached the subject, I don’t know where to begin.
How to phrase the question, have you gotten bored of me?
“Tempest,” he prods/warns when I go minutes without saying anything.
I get myself together and go, “Right. We should talk about things. Now that I’m pregnant.”
“You said that already.”
“Yes, I have,” I agree with him.
He narrows his eyes in response.
“Okay so, I-I know that I wanted us to stay here. Back when we were trying…”
I leave my sentence hanging because I’m hoping that he’ll fill the silence.
But then again, when has he ever filled silences?
He’s pretty content simply standing there and regarding me in brooding silence. So I have to keep going, “But we are not trying anymore.”
“No, we’re not,” he says at last.
I can’t read his tone but I also can’t waste any more time trying to go over things in my head. I need to let it out. “And well, all we’ve done for the past couple of months is, uh, try.”
“Yes.” Then, “All we’ve done for the past couple of months is fuck.”
I suck my belly in at his ‘fuck.’
Not the most shocking thing he’s ever said, but something about him saying it in this moment when we’re having a serious discussion does things to me.
“Yes, we have,” I say somehow. “So I was just wondering, now that I’m pregnant,” God, please stop saying that, “and we even had our first appointment and everything, if, uh, I should still stay here or…”
“Or.”
“Uh,” I let out another breath, “g-go back.”
“Go back.”
“Yes, back to B-Bardstown.”
As soon as I say it, a pain so piercing stabs my chest that it’s a wonder I haven’t gasped out loud.
Not to mention it becomes even more of a miracle for me to stay still and not tremble when he repeats my words once again in a wooden, emotionless tone. “You want to go back to Bardstown.”
I shake my head. “N-no… I mean, yes. As in, if you think I should. If you want me to.”
“Because we aren’t fucking anymore.”
I swallow. “Yes, and if you want to…”
Fuck someone else.
This time, I do gasp and go for the wall beside me, propping against it because my knees are shaking.
Just at the thought of him going for someone else.
Somehow it feels like both: a big thing, a giant thing and a thing so silly that I could start laughing until I cry.
After everything that we’ve been through, all the ways we’ve grown and come closer, the fact that I’m carrying his babies, the fact that we’re a family — an unconventional one but a family nonetheless — him going for another girl seems so trivial. It seems like I shouldn’t even be concerned with things like that.