Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
And see if the sex is even better on it? Right. I do. But I'm tired. And I need to conserve my energy for tomorrow. "Will you forgive me if I go to bed early?"
"It's your night. You can do whatever the fuck you want with it."
"Walk me to my room," I say.
He offers his hand. When I take it, he leads me into the house, up the stairs, all the way to the big, beautiful room.
He even kisses me at the door. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight." And when I slip into the room, I really do feel like I said goodnight to a lover, to a person I desperately want to see again tomorrow.
I'm stepping into my role.
For better or worse.
The warmth of Romeo’s kiss helps me slip into a deep sleep. I wake with the sun, refreshed and ready to start the day. A rare state for me.
Then a knock on my door derails everything.
"Good morning, Ivy," Amara calls. "Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen in five minutes. We're starting our first activity. A breakfast challenge. You and Romeo versus Cynthia and Daniel. Winners take all."
Chapter Seventeen
Romeo
Breakfast.
What would Ivy want to eat? How the hell did I miss that one?
Usually, breakfast is the first thing I cover. Women always blush when I ask so how do you take your coffee? I want to know how to fix it for you tomorrow morning.
It's a cheesy pick-up line, yes, but it's not the content that matters. It's the delivery. The way I smile, look into someone's eyes, set her at ease.
That's what I'm good at. Making women comfortable.
And I covered the coffee part—
She's a tea drinker.
But a breakfast challenge is a step too far, even for me. I watch Mom escort Ivy to patio table outside, the one where Cynthia is already sitting. They make an odd trio.
Even though they're all dressed in some version of California casual, they don't fit together.
Ivy looks awkward in her teal sundress and sandals, as if she's not sure what to do in weekend clothes.
Cynthia's oversized linen suit overwhelms her narrow frame. And, well, it's just strange to see Cynthia in any kind of suit. Even one that's clearly designed for time off.
Mom is the only one who fits into the relaxed atmosphere, with her orange linen dress, despite her sky-high espadrilles and her understated good jewelry.
Is she torturing the two of them?
Does Mom secretly disapprove of divorce?
It's not the image I have of her. She's not exactly a devoted Catholic. She has plenty of divorced friends.
Maybe it's different when it's my girlfriend.
Maybe she's a hypocrite.
Who isn't?
I know how to massage the truth to my advantage when I know what someone wants to hear. But I'm lost here.
This doesn't fit the vision I have of my mother. The romantic who believes love conquers all.
Surely, all includes something as minor as paperwork.
I need to get a pulse on her. See where she is. Ivy might be right. She might be wrong.
Sure, I'm full of shit, but it's only fair. How can she tie my inheritance to marriage? A wedding present, really? That's even more full of shit.
Mom will put the money in a trust early if she really is retiring to the Amalfi coast, the way she always dreamed. After all, why do the paperwork twice?
But if she doesn’t, can I convince Ivy, or some other sucker, to marry me? It’d be the only way to get the funds right away.
With that cash, I don’t need Daniel as a co-investor. But I want to do this with him anyway. It’s our dream. Our project. The way to honor our family.
How am I supposed to build a coffee shop of brotherly love by myself?
Besides, I can’t marry some other poor woman. The image of a wedding to a stranger feels like a betrayal. Which is strange. Ivy is my fake girlfriend. We've agreed to a week. We've had sex twice. And only one of those times was real—
Was it real?
What the hell is real, anyway?
No, I can ask existential questions later. Right now, it's time to fix breakfast.
I move into the kitchen, where Daniel is already hard at work, slicing peppers into tiny cubes.
We’re competing to see who can make the breakfast closest to our lover’s ideal. Though I’m not sure if that’s a breakfast closest to our lover’s favorite or the best tasting breakfast (for two, of course). Mama isn’t exactly a whiz with rules.
Either way, Daniel has a leg up. He lives with Cynthia.
He looks both ridiculous and perfectly in place in his matching oversized linen suit. That explains Cynthia's outfit. He loves that sort of cheesy shit.
I always thought she saw it as ridiculous, the way I did.
But sitting out there with Ivy and Mom, she looks—
Well, she and Ivy both look like people trapped in a conversation with a poet before they've had their morning cuppa. At least, I can help Ivy with that.