Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Kimberly.
She's still in white. Still perfect. Her makeup hasn't budged despite the cold, and her hair looks like she just stepped out of a salon.
“The two of us need to talk.”
I only nod. That’s something I had to learn quite painfully in the days I watched my father’s trial. Sometimes, silence is just better all around—
“Santino isn’t for you.”
And there she goes again.
She clearly isn’t the type to pull punches, and I kinda find that admiring...even if I often end up being her punching bag.
“I know you won’t believe me for saying this, but I’m saying this for your own good. Do you know there were reporters around earlier?”
That I nod clearly catches her off guard, but she quickly regains her composure and looks at me with pity. “Then I don’t need to spell things out, do I? You’re like a new toy to him, but that’s it. He knows you’re not good enough for the real things. The things that matter to someone like him.”
She steps closer, and I have to fight against the urge to step back.
“In two weeks, he’s going back to Europe, and it’s me he’ll take with him, not you. So spare yourself more heartbreak, and just stop clinging to him.”
Chapter Seven
TWO DAYS.
That's how long I manage to keep the distance.
Two days of showing up at the café, pouring coffee, taking orders, smiling with my mouth but not my eyes. Two days of serving him his omelet at seven-twenty-three and pretending I don't see the way he watches me. Two days of being invisible again, except this time I'm
choosing it.
Because choosing to be invisible is safer than letting him see me and finding out I'm not enough.
Santino isn’t for you. You’re like a new toy to him. He knows you’re not good enough for the real things.
Those words had me tossing and turning at night, but even until now, I’m still not quite sure about what Kimberly means by real. Is something only real to her when it’s glamorous and expensive?
A part of me just wants to do exactly as she says.
Spare myself more heartbreak by forgetting he ever existed.
But there’s a part of me that’s still counting.
Because he asked for two weeks, and we’re down to thirteen days now.
Until then...
I make sure that my voice is perfectly polite as I reach his table and ask if he wants more coffee.
“Please.”
My hands are remarkably steady as I pour, and I know I can only thank God for that. Whoever believes in Him will not be put to shame. It’s not about pride. It’s about finding strength and assurance in knowing that you’re not doing anything wrong.
And I want to believe that this isn’t wrong.
Santino asked me to believe him, and so that’s what I’m doing.
Believing in him.
"Anything else I can get you?"
But even so...
"Thea—"
It still hurts.
"I'll put your order in."
And that’s why I end up walking away before he can finish.
Because I sense him wanting to explain, and I’m just...I’m just not ready to hear it right now for some reason.
Jolie corners me by the espresso machine. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"The invisible thing." She says it gently, but it still lands hard. “Is this about Kimberly again?”
It is...and it isn’t.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Thea. And I know what I’m seeing is the truth.”
That’s another thing I want to believe in. But it’s just so hard when everything hurts.
DAY THREE STARTS THE same way.
Seven-twenty-three. Corner booth. Coffee, black, no sugar. Omelet.
I serve him without meeting his eyes. Without saying anything beyond the basics. And he lets me. Doesn't push. Just watches me with that unreadable expression while I count sugar packets and wipe down tables that are already clean.
I'm refilling the napkin dispensers—for the third time, not that anyone's counting except me—when I hear a familiar voice.
"Thea!"
I look up. It's Warren Schwartz from the community center—the one who runs the GED prep classes I helped with last year. He's wearing his usual plaid shirt and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy like he just rolled out of bed, his smile warm and genuine and completely uncomplicated.
"Warren, hey." I smile back. A real smile this time. The first real smile I've managed in two days. Because Warren is safe. Warren is easy. Warren doesn't make my heart do complicated things or make me count inches between bodies or make me want things I can't have.
Warren just makes me feel normal.
"I haven't seen you in forever. How've you been?"
"Good. Busy. You know." I set down the dispenser, actually glad for the distraction. "How are the classes going?"
"Great, actually. We have three students graduating this spring." He leans against the counter, completely relaxed, his elbows resting on the surface like he's settling in for a real conversation. "Including Mrs. Bonitez—remember her? The one who was terrified of the math section?"