Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
The only thought in my mind was hell yes. I want to marry you again too.
I have to give him credit, because when I told him I wanted that too, he didn’t push like he always used to do. He just told me to tell him when I was ready and he’d be all hands on deck to help me plan the wedding.
I only needed two days to mull it over. By that point, I’d finally told Norah all the sordid details of Clay’s and my past, and I knew she was the one person who would tell me if what I was thinking was crazy or perfect.
Not only did I want to plan a wedding in two months’ time, I wanted to marry Clay again on the same day that we got married all those years ago. For the longest time, that date had been fraught with pain and confusion and grief, and I wanted to change that. I wanted to make that date a day to celebrate again. A day to cherish. A day to remember how far we’ve come and still a day to remember Grandma Rose.
And when Norah’s response had been emotional tears highlighted by a smile and a nodding head, I knew it was exactly what I should do.
So, today, on a Wednesday, I’m going to marry Clay Harris again. This time, though, I’m going to make damn sure I take his name.
Even though it’s the middle of the week, everyone has town has chipped in to help make our wedding a special day. All the small businesses are closing a few hours early, and no one is mad that CAFFEINE has been shut down all day.
The town square is set up for a ceremony, and the altar faces the small church where Clay got down on one knee to ask me on our first date. The reception is being held at The Country Club, and Marty’s wife Sheila has agreed to be an extra bartending hand for the entire night.
“Well, come on!” Norah calls over to me as I finish guzzling down half of the bottle of water I grabbed from the table. “If you make me wait any longer, I’m going to end up bringing the hair and makeup to you. Or, you know, tying you to this chair.”
“Hold your horses.” I laugh.
Norah has always been a girly-girl who loves hair and makeup and fancy clothes. Her sense of style has always been one of the things I’ve admired about her.
I sit down in the chair, and she fluffs her fingers through my hair.
“By the way, did you see the latest article about Eleanor and Thomas?”
“What are you talking about?” I meet Norah’s eyes in the reflection in the mirror in front of my chair, and she pulls her phone off the counter to hand it to me.
“Breezy sent it to me last night.”
My eyes scan her phone, an article about our mother and Norah’s ex front and center on the screen.
First Trial Day for Thomas King and Eleanor Ellis-Prescott
NEW YORK, September 21 – King Financial’s ex-wonderboy Thomas King and Eleanor Ellis-Prescott, ex-wife of wealthy businessman Carlton Prescott, sat in court for the first day of their trial for sex-trafficking charges. Three of the DA’s twenty witnesses took to the stand and provided compelling, emotional testimony in front of the jury.
The defense teams of King and Ellis-Prescott had already tried for a plea bargain several months ago, but the DA denied their request.
Donald Watts, the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York, is the one leading the trial and made a statement to the press expressing gratitude to King and Ellis-Prescott’s victims for their courage in coming forward and testifying on the stand today.
More to come on this trial as it progresses.
“Sometimes, it all feels like a fever dream, you know?” Norah says, and I look up from her phone to meet her eyes in the mirror again. “Our mother and my ex are on trial for sex trafficking. If you would’ve told me this was going to happen five years ago, I would’ve never believed it.”
I nod. “It’s certainly sick and twisted in ways I never dreamed were possible.”
But at the same time, it feels like everything I’ve known about our mother is being exposed.
She is evil. To her core. And I’ve known that since the day our baby sister Jezzy died.
I hand Norah her phone back, and she doesn’t bat an eye as her focus shifts right back to getting me ready for my wedding day.
“So…what are we thinking? Dramatic smoky cat eye with red lips?” she asks, and I jerk my head forward.
“Excuse me?”
“Just kidding!” Norah cracks up and yanks me back toward her with two hands on my shoulders. “I think we need to go natural beauty. Earthy tones to bring out your eyes. A little soft blush to highlight your amazing cheekbones. How’s that sound?”