Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Come this way,” his father says as he cuts him off and drags him away to the center of the floor. He hands a champagne flute to Eric, then clears his throat. “Everyone! Everyone! My son has finally arrived, and I have an announcement to make.”
A strained expression flits over Eric’s face as the music and chatter ebb away.
“Eric has been accepted into Hawthorne Law School. He’s decided against the Ivy league to follow my education path.” He pats Eric on the back. “He’s a future leader at Hansen Investments, where he’ll take us into the next generation.”
Applause and congratulatory calls come from the room and Eric smiles. They walk back to me and Mrs. Hansen—who hasn’t spoken a word—even though I’m standing right here. Smiling.
Eric wraps an arm around my waist, almost clinging to me. “Alright. Now. I’d like to introduce you to Julia Lauren. My girlfriend.”
They both blink as if Eric just said the world is flat. I mean, I am a girl and I am on his arm.
“Hi,” I manage. “Surprise?”
Eric lets out a husky laugh.
His father’s eyebrows come together. “You didn’t mention you were bringing a girlfriend. What was your name again?”
“Julia Lauren. Nice to meet you.”
His mother reaches a delicate, manicured hand out to me. She grazes my palm with the tips of her fingers in a limp shake. “Nice to meet you, darling.”
Eric gives me a pained smile. “I guess they thought you were a random girl I escorted inside the party.”
“Funny,” I say, but my eyes say Why didn’t you tell them I was coming?
“Be careful with this one,” Mr. Hansen continues. “He has quite the reputation.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I reply coolly. Lie.
“Then you haven’t given him time,” Mr. Hansen replies as he plucks two champagne flutes from a server and hands one to me, then to his wife. “Welcome to our home.”
We clink glasses, and I take a big gulp. I might need it to make this evening pass quickly.
“Tell me about yourself,” Mr. Hansen asks, eyeballing me as if I’m under a microscope.
“Um, I’m a senior at HU. I’m getting a Fine Arts degree. I know Eric from prep school.”
“Last name?”
“Lauren. I was one of the scholarship students.”
He repeats my name a few times, then shakes his head. “I don’t recall you. But then it was a big class.”
And I was a nobody.
A long silence stretches and tension bubbles in the air.
Mrs. Hansen breaks it by looping an arm through mine and starts tugging me away. “Sorry, guys, she’s mine now.”
Eric’s hand tightens on mine. “Mother. Where are you—”
“I’m taking her on a tour of the house. Of course.”
“Of course,” I whisper back as his eyes meet mine for a beat.
She sweeps me out of the giant ballroom, waving to people on the way as she bends her head to mine and tells me who the various people are. I barely remember any of their names.
She leads me to a beautiful, paneled library, then an elegant parlor where she receives her appointments. Apparently, she works for three separate charities.
At the base of a giant double staircase, her eyes glint. “Let’s take a peek upstairs. I bet you’d like to see his bedroom, wouldn’t you, Janis?”
“Julia and, uh, sure.”
“Great.” She doesn’t acknowledge the name correction but lifts the hem of her gown and goes up the stairs. I follow.
We reach an arched hallway that leads to several doors. She opens the first one. “This is my son’s room.”
I peer inside.
Odd.
First, it looks frozen in time, yet super clean. Second, this can’t be Eric’s room.
My childhood bedroom had trinkets and posters on the walls. I expected Eric’s to be filled with sporty stuff. Hockey sticks. Trophies. Photos of him.
His king-sized bed has a crimson and black comforter and the walls are navy. Over the bed is a red flag with Latin on it like a college flag. It’s not Hawthorne’s.
“This was his bedroom?”
She smiles, her expression as blank as a piece of paper. “He loved to read in front of that window, the one that overlooks the gardens.”
Read? I mean, sure, he’s a smart guy, but he isn’t the type to sit and read. He’d be out playing basketball or skating on the lake. “He must have been happy here,” I murmur.
“Very neat, yes? That’s our Kurt. You get one bit of lint on the floor and he’ll notice. He likes everything organized and clean. I’m so proud he got into law school.”
Was Harvard Law the collegiate flag over the bed?
I’m so confused.
“You mean Eric?”
She shakes her head adamantly. “I mean Kurt. He’s your boyfriend. Keep up, darling.”
My bones chill.
She thinks Eric is Kurt? Or pretends?
Eric mentioned she stayed in a psych ward while he was in high school.
We all have ways of coping with loss. I get that. But this is . . .