Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
I breathe easy with him next to me. “Yes.”
His playful smile inches upward. I wait for him to come behind me and cover my ears.
He doesn’t.
The job. Right. He can’t touch me. I’m married to Trent.
Or…what if…what if Oliver isn’t real? “Olly?” I jolt at a firework boom. When I look back, he’s closer beside me. “Are you real?”
His eyes snap down to me. Then he subtly surveys our surroundings before he slips a lilac behind my ear. His knuckles brush against my cheek.
Real.
He’s really here.
I’m overwhelmed. I almost burst into tears. And I ache for his arms to wrap around me. I want Oliver to pick me up. I want him to swing me around. I want to go to bed with him and Jake, and I don’t want to be married to a man who won’t listen to what I have to say. I want to be with men who never tire of listening and learning. I want to be with men so curious, they could fill their hours picking my brain and they let me scour theirs.
I want to be with Oliver Graves.
I want to be with Jake Koning Waterford.
This is it, I remind myself. This will be the end of something awful and the start to something great.
“Hailstorm.” Oliver is bent to my height. He has a hand on my cheek. “Where’d she go?”
“I-I can’t be here, Olly.” I lick my lips and speak lowly. “He bought a hotel room for the night.”
He straightens up, looking around. “You eat something bad, Hails?” He reaches casually for his phone. “You might be coming down with food poisoning.”
Yes. “Food poisoning.” I nod. “Probably the crab cake.”
“The crab strikes again.”
“Will you tell Trent I feel sick?”
“And that you needed to leave early. Sure thing.” He winks, then smiles brightly at someone else. “Phoebe.”
“Hey?” Her brows scrunch, trying to make sense of me and him. He shouldn’t be hovering around me. That’s not part of the plan. He came to check on me, I realize. He saw I wasn’t okay. She’s carrying two cups of lemonade.
“Where have you been?” I ask her.
“You…you said you were thirsty.” She’s confused. “I told you I’d get us lemonade. Do you not remember?”
I shake my head rapidly.
“Okay, we’re leaving,” she says fast.
“It was the crab. I might puke.”
“Me too.” She gives Oliver one cup, then grabs my hand. My heart pounds in my eardrums.
Everything is happening so fast now. The sun has set. Sparkling reds pop into the sky and bathe the lawn in crimson.
My nerves ratchet up.
Time stops when I glance back at Oliver. As his glimmering eyes train on mine, as he mouths, The webs we weave.
Oh, the webs we weave…when we come together to deceive. An old Tinrock-Graves motto. Our history. One we’re keeping and remaking.
For a moment, I pretend this night has no beginning, middle, or end. It’s just now. And then I remember my older brother—and the pretending vanishes.
There’s no pause for Rocky. No real break or a moment to breathe.
Not when he has the hardest job of us all.
FORTY-FOUR
Rocky
BITE OR GET BITTEN (CONTINUED)
Fireworks explode in the night sky, lighting up the Bennets’ lawn in various colors. I need to stop fiddling with my watch. Fifteen times in the past twenty minutes—yeah, I am on literal edge. This isn’t a run-of-the-mill job anymore. Not with Varrick involved. Not with how much is at stake.
One saving grace: I don’t have to corral horses or babysit a mansion from being obliterated by a bunch of drunk fucks. Thank God.
The Bennets’ Fourth of July party is respectably tame. A true blessing to the rest of my senses. The only blistering sound comes from the incessant fireworks popping overhead. But that, I can definitely live with.
At a picnic table, I stab my fork into a piece of Chantilly cake and scan the party for Phoebe and Hailey. I’ve seen them here and there. They’ve been mingling with guests all night. Doing their part.
Next to me, Jake takes a gulp from a bottle of gin (yes, a bottle), his death glare has been pinned across the lawn on Trent. But Trent left his picnic table five minutes ago, so now Jake is just glaring at a fucking tree. “I hate him.”
“We know, sweetheart.” I swallow the cake and check my phone. “You’ve been plotting murder with your eyes for the last hour.” No texts.
I crack my neck.
Jake doesn’t reply to me. He’s been burying his emotions in booze all night. It’s his role as the aggrieved brother, and I’m only worried because I’ve never actually seen Jake Waterford plastered. He’s assured me alcohol doesn’t loosen his lips, but I’m not in the mood for rolling the dice tonight. My phone buzzes.
We’re ready.
The text comes from Varrick’s burner phone. My stomach instantly knots, and I set my fork on the plate. “Varrick just invited me onto the boat to watch the fireworks,” I tell Jake. “You going to be okay?”