Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
His mouth on mine.
His hands...everywhere.
The way he made me feel things I didn’t even know were possible.
“You’ve never been kissed.”
The memory of his rough voice saying those words makes my stomach flip all over again. And then what happened after...
I press my palms to my flaming cheeks. I can still feel the phantom touch of his fingers, still remember the way he murmured my name when I—
Stop it, Wednesday. Just stop.
But I can’t. Because for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I felt like maybe, just maybe...
I wasn’t completely invisible to him.
Or at least not the way I’ve always been invisible to everyone else.
I know he said it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but...people change their minds, right? They realize things. Feel things they didn’t expect to feel.
Don’t they?
I close my eyes and try to calm my racing heart. I know I’m being ridiculous. I know I shouldn’t hope. But after what just happened between us...how can I not?
The bathroom door opens with a soft whoosh, and I hear multiple sets of heels clicking across the marble floor.
“I can’t believe he actually married her!”
The woman’s voice drifts over the stall dividers, and my hand falls away from the door.
“I know, right?” Another voice joins in, slightly higher pitched. “When I saw her walk through the lobby, I thought she was someone’s daughter. She looks so...young.”
“Young and completely out of her depth.” A third voice, this one with a slight Southern accent. “Did you see that dress? Sweet, but hardly appropriate for a business environment.”
I press myself further back against the stall door, my heart hammering so loud I’m surprised they can’t hear it.
“Poor thing probably has no idea what she’s gotten herself into,” the first woman continues. “Being married to someone like Mr. Launcelot...the social expectations alone would crush most people.”
“Forget the social expectations,” the second woman scoffs. “What about the business side? He needs a wife who can hold her own in boardroom discussions, who understands corporate strategy. Someone who can be an asset to his empire, not a liability.”
“Remember that last woman he’s been dating on and off? The one on Instagram?”
“I think her name’s Jessica...something or other.”
“Right, that’s her! Now that’s the kind of woman who suits Mr. Launcelot.”
“Whatever happened to her anyway?” the Southern voice asks. “They seemed so perfect together.”
“Who knows? Maybe she realized what a demanding bastard he can be and ran for the hills.” Sharp laughter follows, the kind that makes me wince. “Can’t say I blame her. Though this new wife...she’s definitely not going to last long if she’s as naive as she looks.”
“Can you imagine her in bed with him?” The second woman’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s so...intense. She probably just lies there like a dead fish.”
More laughter.
“She’ll bore him to tears within a month,” the first woman agrees. “Mark my words, hon. He’ll be looking for a mistress before their first anniversary. Someone with actual experience who knows how to please a man like that.”
“Poor little thing probably thinks missionary position is adventurous,” the Southern voice adds, and they all dissolve into giggles.
I bite down hard on my lip to keep from making a sound.
“It’s almost sad, really,” the first woman continues once their laughter dies down. “She has no idea she’s just going to drag him down. A man in his position needs a partner who elevates him, not some small-town girl who’ll make him look desperate.”
“Or damaged,” the second voice adds. “Like he couldn’t do better so he settled for whatever was available.”
“She’ll probably cost him business deals just by existing. Imagine bringing her to client dinners or charity galas. The secondhand embarrassment alone...”
Their voices fade as they move toward the sinks, but I can still hear fragments.
“...such a waste...”
“...deserves so much better...”
“...just a matter of time...”
The bathroom door opens and closes.
The room goes quiet.
And that’s when I realize I’m crying.
I can taste the salt on my lips, feel the hot tracks down my cheeks. My hands are shaking as I fumble for toilet paper to wipe my face.
They’re right.
Of course they’re right.
I’ve always known I was different from Jessica. She’s the one who lights up rooms, who commands attention without even trying. She’s the one with the successful social media career, the one who travels to fashion weeks in Paris and Milan.
Years ago, she told me flat out that my existence was hurting her brand. That having a sister like me—boring, ordinary, unfashionable—would cost her followers if people found out. It would make her look...less than. Like she came from common stock instead of the glamorous world she’d carefully crafted online.
And so of course, I stayed away.
Because what she said was true, and so I swallowed my pride and learned to stay in the background, to make myself as invisible as possible when she was building her life. It’s why I never asked to be included in family photos she posted, why I never mentioned our relationship when people asked.