Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Chapter Seven
HARLOW
Calix’s head is so close to mine. His eyes are so warm I almost believe for a second that he is my real fiancé and not someone I’m paying a grand to play a part. I want to rest my head in his hand for a long time, close my eyes, let my body draw warmth from his. The drama of the past week at work has made my head pound and my eyes smart. His closeness is drawing that away, like sucking that invisible venom from my veins. If I stay here another moment, I may never want to leave, which won’t do. I can’t rely on another person. They will only leave me, even if they don’t intend to.
I push him away. “Thanks. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Grief, I suspect.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders around the room, inspecting the porcelain figurines she collected, the stack of art books she never read, the playing cards that were used only for solitaire. “Tell me about her.”
“My grams?”
“Yes. For the co-op board,” he clarifies. “In case they ask about her.”
“Oh right. Um, she lived here for nearly thirty years. My granddad bought it back in the seventies after he made a good amount of money in the ad business. From her old pictures, they lived a fancy life. Dinners at the Rainbow Room, box seats at Broadway, but after he died, the photo albums had fewer and fewer entries. It seems like she lived most of her life inside, which is why it’s so full.”
“Looks like she had a lot of hobbies.”
“She did.”
“Did you live here with her?”
“No. I visited but I don’t think enough.”
“Enough that she left you this place.”
“I don’t deserve it.” My words sound very pathetic. I change the subject. “It’s really well kept though. I don’t think I’ll need to do any updating.”
“Are you keeping or selling?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. Ariel would say to sell this place and use the money to set up my own ad agency, but the remnants of my grandmother still linger, and she was the one stable thing in my life. I don’t want to give it up. It would feel like cutting off my feet.
“Do you have other family? I didn’t ask before.”
“My dad is in the wind, and my mom, well, Grams didn’t leave her the condo because Mom would have sold it and spent the money on three Dior dresses in hopes that she could snare a rich husband.” Oof, that sounds bitter. “I mean, I think she meant for me to use it to take care of the family I have left.”
“Not all parents do their jobs well. Mine are very flighty,” he shares. His admission eases my embarrassment and, unfortunately, loosens my tongue.
“Mom isn’t flighty; she’s a loose cannon. One minute she shows up flush with cash trying to give me the latest ‘it’ accessory, and the next minute, she can’t make her rent and ‘can she have the gift back so she can sell it at the consignment store.’” Gosh, why am I trauma dumping on this guy? I make myself shut up about my mom. “What about you? I’ll need to know some details about your life since the stuff in the chats was, um, a lie.”
“My parents moved abroad a few years ago. My Aunt Gia is determined to marry me off and has been forcing me to meet various daughters of her friends, so thank you for saving me from that. I own a business.” He stops after that. I guess he’s embarrassed it’s not doing well. A lot of men’s identities are tied to their wallets.
“Star sign?” I ask.
“Star sign?” he repeats, a befuddled expression on his face. He’s adorable if a six-foot-four-inch built like an athlete man can be adorable.
“Your astrological sign in case someone asks.”
“Is this the kind of place where people would ask that?”
“Yes. Absolutely. The lady in 4 reads tarot cards for fun. She read mine when I was around twelve.”
“What did she have to say?”
That I’d suffer a lot of grief before I’d find true love and to beware of fake friends and scammers. I hate to admit it, but I think this guy sort of falls into the scammer column. He’s taking me for money that I don’t really have to spare in exchange for pretending to marry me. Although I guess I’m trying to scam the condo people, so maybe we’re perfect for each other. Two liars bound together in unholy matrimony, except we don’t actually have to be married, so we might escape the lightning bolt of judgment.
“That bad?” he says.
I shake myself free of my thoughts. “The normal stuff. My current relationships are rocky, success will be big but elusive, there will be challenges ahead, and I have to make the right decisions or suffer consequences.”