Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Champagne is healthy. How dare you suggest otherwise.”
I shrug, toss it back. Get a refill. She arches an eyebrow, but follows suit. “I try not to indulge myself like that anymore,” I say, watching her still as she stares anywhere but at me. “In my line of work, I need to be disciplined.”
“Lawyer? Disciplined? Big shock.”
“Particularly considering my clientele. I need to be discreet and in control, otherwise the men I work for might start wondering if I can keep their secrets.”
“No getting hammered for you, not in public at least.” She glances at me. “That must be hard.”
“Sometimes,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away. I feel like this is the last time I’ll see her. But she’ll be here in the morning, and the morning after. I could visit her whenever I wanted.
Except I know I won’t. It would hurt too fucking bad, only make things harder.
“I tried to do everything right, but look where that got me. Then you came along.” She laughs bitterly. “Now I don’t know anymore.”
“I decided a long time ago that I can’t be self-indulgent. I’m a naturally selfish person, and I’ll take as much as I can if given the chance, and so I always struggle against my impulses. Even when I want something that feels so good, something I’ve never felt before, even then I have to be careful because of who I am. I destroy everything I touch, Fiona. I work for killers and thieves. I can’t let myself give in to my base desires.”
“You don’t ruin everything,” she whispers, eyes closed. She throws back another drink. I do the same and refill our glasses. “Something horrible happened to you a long time ago, but that doesn’t define everything that comes after.”
“Because I don’t let it.” I move closer to her. Heart racing. “Do you want me to say that it’s okay to slip?”
“I don’t know what I want.” Her eyes open and she meets my gaze. “At least, I didn’t think I did. Everything kept going wrong for me, one thing after another, and then you appeared. At first, I thought you were another problem. But you haven’t been, not even close.”
“I’m a problem, all right,” I say, reaching up to brush my knuckle down her chin.
She shivers. “Don’t.”
“I shouldn’t. You’re right.”
“Nothing will change, will it? Even if I kiss you right now. Even if I ask you not to go. You’re going to leave.”
I take a deep breath. I hold it for one beat, two beats, three. My hands tremble when I let it out. “Yes. I am.”
“Then don’t.” She pushes herself up from the couch.
I grab her wrist before she can walk away. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m drunker than I realized. She looks back, surprised as I stand, getting close. She doesn’t pull away this time.
“I want you to understand that if things were different, I wouldn’t go to Boston. Not without you.”
“Are you saying it’s not me, but it’s you?” Her smile is tight. Lips pressed together. “That’s an old one.”
“No, in this case, it’s definitely you. It’s because you deserve better.”
“You keep saying that.” She touches my face with her other hand. “But I don’t think you really understand what that means.”
I hold her there. We’re so close and my chest aches for her. I want this more than I dreamed possible.
I want to tell her to come with me. I want to forget about Boston and stay.
I want my Fiona, my wife.
Instead, she shrugs away, places her glass on the counter, and disappears into her room.
I collapse back onto the couch, cursing quietly to myself.
Chapter 40
Gareth
Boston’s a comfortable temperate toward the end of summer. Not too hot, not too cold. Finn Crowley picks me up from the airport in a black sports car wearing dark sunglasses, his hair pushed back. I toss my bag in the back and sit shotgun. “No driver?” I ask, feeling mildly surprised.
“I like to do my own driving.” He pulls into traffic, going faster than he should. I buckle my seatbelt. “Dad’s happy you’re visiting. The big move’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”
“A few weeks,” I say, nodding, thinking about what I left behind. Fiona, sulking quietly. A week away from starting her new job.
“You’ll like Boston,” he says, navigating into the city. “It’s not Texas, but it’s a good place to live.”
I shrug, not really caring either way. “I’m not here to sightsee.”
He laughs. “But you still got to spend your days here. Might as well get a feel for it.”
Boston’s an old city. Where western cities were made after the invention and spread of cars, East Coast cities were too entrenched and dense to really accommodate the change in driving habits. Streets are tight out here, not four-lane monstrosities that cut through the middle of Dallas. Out there, they’re one-way, cobblestone in the historic districts, traffic everywhere, pedestrians everywhere, the streets cutting in and out seemingly at random.