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 I started to like him. And he started to trust me.
And I kept using him for material, without telling him anyway.
That’s when it changed.
It was one thing to agree to these terms as long as we were client and customer. But once we started acting like lovers, I owed him more of the truth.
More of myself.
I knew I was only allowed to share on a technicality, and I did it anyway.
He deserved better than that.
I just… don’t know how to fix things. I never know how to fix my own problems.
Ivy: So he'll still be at the wedding? He’s not uninvited?
Cynthia: Of course. And you're still invited.
I put my cell phone in my lap. "I have an idea." There isn’t much time, with the wedding tomorrow, but there’s enough. Just enough.
"Does it involve talking to him?" Meredith asks.
"Yes, but it's way more dramatic." I tap the driver's seat. "Can we go straight to Nordstrom? I'll need a dress for a wedding."
Meredith smiles. "You better book that return flight."
"Already on it."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Romeo
"How's this?" Daniel adjusts the knot of his purple tie and studies his reflection in the mirror. Since he's following strict wedding protocol, he hasn't seen Cynthia's dress. He only knows it's purple.
She refused to help him with the exact shade, too. Said she'd rather they blend in a beautiful harmony of hues. Or some woo-woo bullshit like that.
He barely had time to buy four different purple ties. He was too busy going over my numbers. Trying to figure out how we could maximize Sasha’s and my business by increasing our employees.
I tried to explain it to him—that would make him a pimp—but he didn't quite grasp the implications.
My brother, the naive one.
It's a strange feeling. One I want to share with Ivy. But she's not here.
She ran. She didn't run back.
I know, I could reach out. I could talk to her, tell her I understand. And I will. I'll say something, at some point. I'm just not sure what or when.
My head is still fuzzy.
Damn, I wish she was here. I miss her in this way I don’t recognize. A way I haven’t felt before.
Is that love? This gaping hole when you lose someone?
No wonder I have so many clients asking me to pretend to love them, on their terms.
Watching the person you love walk away is miserable.
I try to shake off my funk, to focus on my brother’s wedding, but the weight of it remains. A heaviness in my chest. A crushing sense of emptiness.
All these feelings I’ve ran from, for my entire life.
"It brings out the honey in your eyes," I say, dragging myself back into the here and now.
"Is it close to her dress?" he asks.
I mime zipping my lips. It's too fun playing with him. After all, how often does your older brother get married?
How often does he need your wisdom to do it?
"Rome," he stresses.
"She'll like it."
"Will it match?"
"Yes." I motion to the tie that's a little more vibrant. "But that one will look better."
"Thank you." He switches ties and checks his reflection in the mirror again.
We're in his old bedroom. It's a small space for both of us, and it's strange, being here before his wedding. Like we're getting ready for Prom.
Not that we ever went to a dance together. No, the only time we ever attended an event together was when Cynthia begged me to make it a group thing, so she'd get the chance to dance with Daniel.
But he spent the entire time acting as chaperone to all my younger friends.
He perfects the tie, smooths his suit, checks himself out in the mirror again.
"You look good," I say. "Like a groom."
"I do, don't I?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
He smiles in a dopey in-love way I don't recognize. But that's on me. I haven't been looking.
I haven't been here.
I let all my bullshit come between us.
Daniel had plenty of his own, but I didn't give him a chance to play, really. Not with our communication consisting entirely of lies.
He still doesn't know Ivy and I weren't really dating. But I think that's an acceptable white lie.
After all, I really felt things for her. So, what's it matter what we technically called the relationship?
"Have you talked to her?" The man seems to read my mind.
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"I don't know what to say."
"That doesn't sound like you," he says.
"It's a strange sensation."
Again, he smiles in that knowing older brother way. "You really like her."
"You keep saying that."
"It continues to surprise me." He turns and raises a brow. "I listened to the episodes, the two she apparently recorded here."
"Oh? Any notes on my performance?"
He waves me away. "It sounds like she really likes you. Maybe you should reach out. Let her know it's okay she shared that. It is okay, isn't it?"
"I told her she could tell anyone," I say. "Technically, yes."