Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Laughed.
In my mother’s face.
The only thing that came out of his mouth was a measly “oh, I think my chef will be happy with this one.”
She squeezes my hand again, and it reminds me of the way she’d beg me to behave when I was younger, always trying to keep me out of trouble when I seemed hell-bent on stirring up chaos.
“Torin, you know how much Prince Vaughn’s donation could mean,” she says.
Her eyes crack my heart into two pieces.
“He pities us,” I tell her. “Even now. You’re married to Noah’s father, you’re wearing multi-thousand-dollar gowns, you’re gracious and kind and involved, and he still pities us. I have a hard time accepting that.”
Her expression is soft. It’s like she has a permanent, glowing shield of okayness around her that can’t be breached.
I’m envious of that, sometimes.
“He can think whatever he’d like,” she tells me.
“How?”
“Because I know who I am.”
And just as quickly, my heart feels like it’s whole again.
I sigh. “Yeah. I know who the fuck I am, too.”
Her laugh brings me back down to Earth. “You always have.”
Mom has always been a generous person.
She would feed the two of us off of the same bag of potatoes and on-sale pork for an entire week, and we’d have plain oats every morning and fresh fruit was considered a goddamn luxury. Kids in school never outright bullied me, because they were scared of me, to be honest. But I overheard enough to know that they noticed my threadbare jacket, and that they commented on my thrift-store shoes.
I look around at the gleaming marble floor now, with one long, red runner rug lining the hall. There are literal marble columns dotting the end of the corridor, where it opens up toward the staircase landing.
“This is never going to be my world,” I tell Mom. “But I won’t toss my drink in the prince’s face. Unless he says the word mutt again.”
She pulls me into a hug before we head off again.
As we walk down the hall, I glance over everything on the walls, noticing one thing more than anything else.
Noah.
I’m surrounded by him again.
Family photographs line the walls in the mansion, and right above the staircase, there’s a family portrait from just last year. Noah’s smiling softly in it, and he has that faraway look in his eyes that he gets sometimes.
Like he’s always searching for something.
Wishing for something.
Last week, I was so close to you I could see the changes in your eyes.
The way you light up when you’re given what you want.
…Like my mouth. And my tongue.
The hookup with Noah has played on repeat in my mind every time I’ve gotten off this week.
Normally, I move on after hookups, but my whole world is colored by Noah lately, and I’ve let myself indulge.
The memory of the way he kissed me is intoxicating. He was so eager to give himself to me, even with all of the denial that streams out of his mouth all of the time.
I heard a saying, once, that the way someone kisses is similar to the way they fuck.
I can see why so many girls liked being with Noah, in that case.
That willing-to-please look in his eye he got when he put his tongue on my cock… I wanted to devour him. I wanted him to devour me.
Annoying.
Distracting.
Even the text I got from Noah last night made me feel odd, and after I got hard thinking about how needy the text was, I didn’t respond.
I didn’t know how to respond.
Noah’s not allowed to be needy with me, and he doesn’t have any right to say I “ditched him” when he made it clear that it was a one-time deal.
I don’t want needy people.
But I still liked the text.
A tendril of pride licked through me as I read it, like some monster inside me saying I fucking told you so.
He got one taste of my mouth… and my dick, and now he’s pissed that I didn’t tell him I was leaving this week.
When Mom and I finally make our way out to the outdoor bar, it’s clear that the prince has been saucing up for a while now.
Prince Vaughn’s auburn swoop of hair is falling in front of one of his eyes, and his gaze is droopy already.
Noah’s father looks red in the cheeks and jolly, and I’ve realized he’s a very happy drunk, which is at least one good thing about all of this. He reaches for my mother and the two of them get caught in a conversation with a few of the prince’s guests, and that leaves Vaughn alone with me.
I lean an arm onto the bar after pouring myself a glass of red wine.
“So have you been glad you’re here this week instead of at… what’s it called, Crimson College?” Vaughn asks me. “A bit restrictive to be on a college campus, isn’t it? Rules, classes, homework. Bleh.”