Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
My next tray is filled with a mixed array of drinks and as I take my first few steps back into the chaos of the party, I realize that in order to not have this whole thing tipped all over me, I’m going to have to concentrate.
I make my way around, passing King who stops me to discreetly grab my ass. I look up at him, more than ready to drop kick him when he nods into the crowd.
I follow his gaze and my night instantly comes crashing down around me. “I should have known she’d be here,” I mutter, taking in Ember who stands around all the Stepford Wives acting like she truly belongs here and playing the ‘woe is me’ card. I can only imagine what kind of bullshit is coming out of her mouth right now.
King grumbles something before glancing down at the tray. “See if you can get closer without anyone realizing. We need to know if she’s talking shit.”
“I can already guarantee that she’s talking shit.”
King rolls his eyes and smacks his hand down against my ass. “Just go.”
I grin up at him, narrowing my eyes and letting him know that the second we’re out of here, he’s going to be getting hell for that, but nonetheless, I put my head down and start weaving my way through the bodies, stopping to help guests with a fresh glass of champagne.
As I creep my way closer and closer to Ember, her high-pitched squeaky voice begins to stand out louder and louder. Perhaps after months of listening to her rambling on about stupid shit, I’ve become attuned to it.
“My mom had a hard life,” she sighs, bringing out the puppy dog eyes. “She didn’t mean to have an affair. They started seeing each other before my father had even met Brynn. It’s not her fault. She promises that she didn’t know he was married, but she just fell in love, and we’ve all been there, right? When you’re in love, nothing else matters.”
The women around her sigh, their hearts melting for her as some place their hands on her shoulders, lending her support while others nod their heads in understanding.
“I was adopted by the Michaelson family when I was six and they raised me all these years, but I never forgot her or the few brief moments I got to spend with my father before he was so abruptly taken away.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Beckett says, tilting her head as the bullshit Ember is spewing pulls on her heart strings. “I can’t imagine how that must have felt for you.”
Ember nods and I try not to gag as I continue making an arc around them, listening from every angle and taking in each of the faces of the women that I'm now going to have to watch out for. “My mom … my real mom, Paris, she was struggling, especially after London passed. It was such a tragedy. I don’t know how she would have gotten through it. Losing someone like that is awful, but they were twin sisters …”
Nope. Just no.
She doesn’t get to use my mother in her bullshit sob story. It’s not going to happen.
My jaw clenches and just as I’m finding somewhere to throw this tray, a high-pitched, joyful squeal comes tearing through the party. “DANTE!”
Dante? What the fuck? Who the hell around here has the nerve to call him by his first name?
Carver’s head whips around so fast and I follow the voice, instantly seeking out who would have the power to gain Carver’s attention so fast. A small body crashes into his arms, jumping up into the air and holding as tight as possible. Hell, she’s holding him so tight that I’m even a little bit jealous.
Before Carver gets a chance to recover, a second body comes barreling into him, clutching onto his legs and holding on for dear life, and as he pulls his head back, I see nothing but pure joy. It’s the same look in his eyes as when he’s looking at me, only this one is filled with years of fondness and unconditional love.
It’s clear as day that these girls are his little sisters and that’s made even more obvious when his mother walks in and my blood runs cold. The last time I saw her … well, shit. It didn’t go down so well, particularly because my hands were still dripping with the blood of her dead husband.
I find myself shrinking back into the crowd, not ready to face that unhinged cow when her gaze sweeps through the room and lands on me. Her expression darkens and I realize that no matter what, dealing with her is going to be a war, so I raise my chin and make a point that I am not afraid of her. If anything, she should be the one scared about returning to a town that’s run under my leadership.