Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“No, sir. It’s been quite a long time since I’ve had the unfortunate experience, but I can attest to the discomfort.”
“That’s very helpful information.” Mildred grins.
“Don’t get any ideas, little menace,” I mumble.
“Too late, villain,” she quips, then turns her attention back to the staff. “I sent them off with their own copy of the book, and my young reader is now signed up for our romance book club.”
“Hopefully the boy learns a thing or two!” Ethel giggles.
The room bursts into laughter and applause, quickly devolving into tales of teenage bad behavior.
Eventually we’re shooed out so they can finish preparing dinner.
“How often do you do that?” I ask as Mildred turns toward the stairs to the second floor.
“Do what?”
“Hang out with the staff.”
She pauses with her hand on the newel post. “Most days. I used to live across the hall from my best friend. I don’t anymore, and I miss that. They help fill the void.” She disappears up the stairs.
I don’t follow.
Half an hour later, Mildred and I are sitting at the dinner table. I can’t shake my fiancée’s disappointment that Meems won’t be joining us. Instead Meems is taking dinner with one of her friends in the guesthouse. When I asked them both to join us, Meems brushed me off, saying I needed time with Mildred without a chaperone. She spends time with the staff every day, she hangs out with Meems all the time, and she goes over to Madden’s to play board games. But the only reason she’s willing to sit here with me is because of a contract.
“I don’t want you to feel trapped,” I blurt.
“This place is enormous, Connor. I hardly feel trapped.” She spears a roasted potato.
“That’s not…” I push my chicken around on my plate. My stomach twists uncomfortably. “Besides playing board games, what do you and Madden do when you hang out?”
She tips her head, eyes fixed on me. “What do you do with your friends, Connor?”
I drop my gaze. Embarrassed. Frustrated. I don’t socialize outside of hockey. I avoid hanging out with my teammates because I’m the bad apple. I don’t spend time with my sisters because it causes tension with our parents.
Mildred sighs, and it’s a soft, sad sound. “I beat him at board games. We watch stupid TV. We talk and laugh and complain about the weather, and we eat cheap food because Flip has a habit of buying things on sale in bulk. That’s what we do. Normal friend stuff.”
The uncomfortable jealousy I can’t seem to escape when it comes to Madden takes hold. Even though I took one of the people who means the most to him and claimed her for myself, he’s still nice to me—giving me pointers on how to make his best friend happy.
“You should hate me.”
Mildred pushes her chair back.
Of course she’s leaving now.
What did I expect her to do? Tell me I’m wrong? That I’m not making her miserable most of the time? That this isn’t the worst decision she’s ever made?
She rounds the table and stops beside my chair. She smells like strawberries and vanilla, and I want to ask her to stay, but I can’t. I won’t.
She takes my face in her hands and tips my head back, her soft chocolate eyes meeting mine, so full of sadness I could drown in the hurt I keep causing her.
“I don’t need to hate you, Connor.” She bends, and her hair tickles my skin as her warm, soft lips brush my cheek. “You do it enough for both of us.”
CHAPTER 17
CONNOR
Mildred took her plate with her when she left, so I finish my dinner alone, but only because I don’t want to waste food. I now have some odd sense of needing to right an ancient wrong regarding my fiancée’s best friend. Besides, not eating well will affect my on-ice performance. It’s been a solid start to preseason, and I don’t want to fuck it up.
I shock the hell out of the staff when I show up in the kitchen with my empty plate. The laughter stops, and everyone stands when I enter.
“Mr. Grace, was your dinner insufficient?” Cedrick asks.
It really sucks that I put everyone on edge just by existing. “No, dinner was great. I just figured I’d save you the trouble of collecting my plate since I’m going out to see Meems.”
He takes the plate and cutlery. “It’s my job, sir.”
“Sometimes it’s nice when someone makes it easier, though.” I rub the back of my neck. “And can you all stop calling me Mr. Grace, please? I know I look like him, but I’m not my father.” And I never want to be. All the art I put on my body is a reminder of just how different we are. He would never defile himself the way I have, and he’s been very vocal about his disdain for my choices, career and body art included.