Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
And it totally tracked that the only thought she had at that time was to get to Battle.
She leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder.
I wrapped an arm around her.
“Now, I’ve messed up, Vivi,” she whispered.
“How did you mess up, honey?” I whispered back.
“I scared them so much. I worried them so much. They aren’t living their lives.”
“This is what I know,” I announced grandly.
She just tipped her head back but kept it on my shoulder as we looked at each other.
“If that happened to my sister, I’d be on her like a rash, until I knew she didn’t need me. And I wouldn’t give that first fuck if she needed me for twenty years.”
“Really?” she asked softly.
“Absolutely,” I answered resolutely. “But what you’re missing is, they can look after you and live their lives too. You can’t be responsible for the decisions they make.”
“But…Tempie—”
“No, Chassie. You heard Ravenna. It’s on her now.”
She lifted her head, but I kept my arm around her.
“I know she was worried about me going to London,” she said. “Seeing Mrs. Pattinson again. All of that. And she didn’t see him when she was there. She goes there, not much. Not enough, if he cares about her. And obviously he does. Their row on the phone didn’t sound good.”
“Her decision to make.”
“But—”
I shook her. “You have enough to worry about seeing to you, don’t take on Tempie.”
Her face grew stubborn, and damn, I was loving Chassie getting back to Chassie.
“So they can take on me, and I can’t take them on?”
“They didn’t take you on, my lovely. They stuck close to support you. I think it’s important you know the difference.”
She scrunched her nose, still stubborn, and I’d take it.
Though, I wasn’t done.
“But just to say, that would be my advice to anyone. Worry about yourself. What you can do. What you can control. Trying to take on responsibility for another person’s happiness is like trying to change the past or manipulate the future. It’s fool’s work and doomed to fail every time.”
She bit her lip and gazed into the ballroom.
I wasn’t sure what I said sank in, but I didn’t get the opportunity to pursue it.
We heard Prue shouting, “Battie’s home!”
We both twisted to see her at the end of the hall.
She then disappeared.
And I didn’t know what came over me (I did, I was very fond of him).
I immediately jumped to my feet, raced down the hall, turned the corner, raced down that hall (damn, this house was huge), hit the foyer, and there he was, wearing a dark-gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the tie was gone, the shirt open, this over charcoal-gray suit trousers—tall, broad, beautiful.
Mine.
I threw myself at him, heard him grunt when he caught me, but his arms locked around me as I slid my hand into his hair to pull his mouth down to mine.
I didn’t have to expend much effort. He took my mouth, and we made out hot and heavy in the foyer.
When we finally broke, he purred, “Much better than you draped longingly over the balustrade.”
“I thought so,” I replied breathlessly.
He kissed my nose (a thing for him, since my freckles were a thing for him).
Then he let me go so he could kiss the waiting cheeks of Prue and Chassie while I greeted Bartholomew, who came home with him.
Prue clapped. “You made it in time for cocktails.”
“And a drink is precisely what I need, sweetheart. Traffic on the M4 was a nightmare,” he replied, rounding my shoulders with an arm and turning us to the plum parlor.
When we made it, Chassie asked, “Should I ring Fitzy?”
“I can manage,” Battle said, because not a single Talyn could toast a slice of bread, but I figured they all could make a variety of cocktails. He let me go and headed to the drinks cabinet, asking, “Orders?”
I tried to think of one to stymie him.
But he called me on it, saying, “I have a phone, Vivi. Whatever you cook up, I can look it up.”
“Martini,” I ordered on a huff.
He smiled at me.
I got over my huff.
“My usual,” Prue chirped.
“Me too,” Chassie surprisingly said (she was a non-frozen daiquiri girl, for the most part).
Battle got to work, and we took our seats, me in what had become my chair, next to Bartholomew, who put his slobbery snout on my leg, making me happy I was wearing jeans.
I stroked his head.
Battle had made the drinks, passed them around and folded into the chair beside mine when Tempie floated in looking her usual fabulous in a pair of wide-leg white pants and a red and white sleeveless blouse with a complicated bow at her neck.
She was accompanied by Fitzy.
“Good,” she said upon spying Battle. “I missed the reunion. But do tell. Was it mildly pornographic, or wildly pornographic?”