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)
“My fault—”
“Never your fault,” she says. “He probably weaseled it out of you.”
“That would still be my fault,” I whisper, skirting around a server and her bowls of lobster bisque.
“I’ll never believe it is, so you need to live with my delusion.”
I smile a little, loving my best friend during a crisis. “I’ll explain everything later. Ride safe.”
“Pray I don’t get a rash.”
“I’ll let Oliver know so he can pray in every language.”
“Perfect. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” We hang up, and I take a readying breath as I push into the patio. My mom nearly springs out of her chair upon seeing me. Her overwhelmed relief slams into me like a monster truck, and it feels…good.
She really wanted me back.
THREE
Hailey
“You look a little clammy. Do you need more water?” My mom is about to flag another server.
“I’m okay.” I catch her hand across the table, stopping her. She jolts at the sudden touch as much as I do. We’re not a physically affectionate mother-daughter pair. Not like Elizabeth and Phoebe.
Even so, my mom turns her hand, letting my fingers slip into hers for the briefest of moments. She squeezes the tips of them in the subtlest expression of care. Here I was, expecting a lengthy lecture about not being put together enough.
After releasing her hand from mine, she clasps the stem of a wineglass filled with a pale-gold liquid. The Sauvignon Blanc tips me off that she’ll be having oysters on the half shell. It’s an Addison Tinrock staple, and despite everything we’ve been through, a part of me is honored she’s let me see her likes, dislikes, and true personality when so much of her life is a careful fabrication.
I prefer seeing the truths. I never want to be fed lies again.
Water laps gently against sailboats and yachts in Bowen’s Wharf. It’s not a secret how much the godmothers love Newport, Rhode Island. How along the Cliff Walk they’d admire the rows of Gilded Age mansions. How they dreamed of one day being so rich and powerful they could buy the Vanderbilts’ summer home themselves.
I love the scenic New England coast. Pleasant. The salty air and smell. It eases me as much as the escalating chatter around us. Ladies in flowing silk dresses scoop mussels out of shells and sip rosé. Lost in their own universe. Oblivious to ours.
I take a deeper breath and ask, “What were we talking about before?”
“Phoebe and Rocky.”
Of course we were. Their names typically leave my mom’s lips as easily as hello and goodbye.
Phoebe and Rocky.
Rocky and Phoebe.
My older brother and my best friend.
Two people who have been vital organs in my life as essential as lungs and kidneys and the black heart that pumps in my chest. Brain fog begins clearing. Little pieces of our lunch convo return to me. “You were asking for updates,” I state. “Haven’t you heard the gossip at the club?”
Addison and Elizabeth have been frequenting Victoria Country Club since Claudia’s funeral. They’ve already established false identities as ritzy, boutique New York matchmakers—which is why we’re meeting outside of Victoria. It’d raise too many questions if they were spotted out to lunch with me and Phebs in town. We could brush away the skepticism, but it’s easier to avoid altogether.
She watches me tear a packet of Sugar in the Raw. “Yes, I’ve heard about the breakup. You really can’t escape the news about Phoebe Smith, Jake Waterford, and Grey Thornhall.” She takes a stiff sip of wine. “It’s this town’s version of Dawson’s Creek.”
She knows I love those soapy shows, even if they aren’t her favorite. I scoot closer to the table and say, “Except part of the love triangle was fake, which makes it not really a love triangle at all.”
“For the best. I can’t imagine anything more needlessly complicated than a real-life pull between two men. Phoebe avoided a headache.”
I try to think of anything but Oliver and Jake. “What’s the public perception of the breakup?” I stick to the job. Stable ground.
“Claudia’s friends at the club are unsurprised. No one honestly believed Jake would last with Phoebe long term, and those with daughters have already gone rabid. Julia Kelsey’s mother is trying to set the poor girl up for polo lessons with Jake.”
“As expected,” I mutter, my stomach weirdly knotting picturing a flock of women hovering around Jake. I can’t imagine Jake lifting Julia off a horse without feeling dizzy. I should drink water, but I dump my sugar into a cinnamon latte macchiato, a splurge when I’ve been mostly living off drip coffee these past months.
This will be my only burst of caffeine today, so I plan to savor every sip.
“What do you think?” my mom asks.
“About?” I lift my gaze to hers, seeing her assess me a little too intensely.
“About Jake.”
I blink, not knowing what to say, considering she has zero clue that I’m Jake’s fuck buddy. A secret I shall not be inviting her to share. And she’s not asking if I’m sleeping with Jake—that’d be ludicrous. We’ve been very discreet, and the only reason a select few people know is because I told them.