Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
And I do just that as she climbs back into bed.
FORTY-FIVE
CORA
It goes on replay in my head over and over again, hearing those words, as Arlo hands me a glass of water and a couple of pills. He watches me as I drink and swallow. His dark hair is unkempt, yet somehow still looks fantastic. Then he announces, “I’m going to visit your mother today. They called and said she was doing well on her antibiotics. And that she ate all that chocolate you left, so I’m going to take her more.”
I’m shocked by his offer. No one ever helps with my mother—it’s always been me. For so long, it’s just been instinctual to handle it all myself, as if it’s stitched into the fabric of who I am. The idea of someone else stepping in feels foreign… almost wrong. But he doesn’t say it as if it’s an obligation or something he’s doing out of pity. His voice is steady and confident, leaving no room for protest. It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says them, as if he’s already decided and as if helping me isn’t a burden but a given.
“I can go.”
“No, you can’t. Your mother is healing, and so are you. Rest. I’ll be back later with food.” Arlo leans down and, ever so softly, presses a kiss to my forehead before ordering, “Sleep.”
“You pay for her care, don’t you?” He pulls back and says nothing. But the look on his face tells me everything I need to know. He does.
“Sleep,” he repeats.
I want to tell him no, but my eyes are starting to get heavy as he places a glass of water on the bedside table and then turns to leave.
“Why do you think you’re falling in love with me?” I blurt out. I was going to avoid mentioning it because he hasn’t actually said the words to me. But it’s all I can think about. A distraction, I guess, from the pain that sits heavy in my chest at the thought of never seeing Delaney again.
We won’t be at each other’s weddings.
Our children won’t grow up together.
All the things we talked about and planned while drunk in our apartment many years ago. Who am I going to call when I need to vent to someone? It’s always been her. Sebastian works for me, and while I consider him a great friend, he isn’t her, and he never will be. She is irreplaceable. So yes, I will bring up the tough conversations because they’re a distraction. And Arlo is becoming a nice distraction.
“I don’t think…” is all he gives me before he walks out.
I hear him lock the door as he leaves.
And it’s not long before my eyes close, and I pass out.
A week goes by in a blur. I delay all work and attend Delaney’s funeral. Arlo paid for it, and he isn’t aware that I know he did. But someone sent in an anonymous donation to cover all expenses. I’ve kept it to myself, but I know it was him because I saw an email receipt for funds paid to the funeral home flash on his screen when we were at her celebration of life party.
Arlo is sitting across the table from me, and I contemplate telling him I saw it, but I decide not to. We haven’t spoken much about what happened or the fact that he said he was falling in love with me. I sat with that information for days, letting it sink in and warm me from the inside out.
“Thank you for being here for me this week,” I say sincerely as our food is placed in front of us. “And for visiting my mother.” He informed me that he had employed a delivery service to bring her chocolate every other day. I didn’t argue about it, which is so unlike me.
Today is the first day I haven’t cried since that awful day Rylas kidnapped me, and I found out he killed Delaney. My face feels less swollen, and Arlo has been cautious with what he says around me because I’ll burst out crying at the drop of a hat.
“It was no problem.”
We sit in silence for a moment longer before I say, “You no longer wear your beads.” I point to his hands.
“I told you… I no longer need them,” he says, reaching for his drink.
“What do you mean?”
“They were a tool I used to cope with my fucked-up childhood, but I think I’ve moved past that now.” He takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine.
“That’s a big breakthrough,” I tell him. “What’s the Society?” I ask quietly, after making sure no one is paying us any attention.
“The privilege of that knowledge is held for wives alone.”
“Is that why you said you would marry me?” I question.