Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“What would you be doing if you weren’t … betrothed?”
I cup my chin on the top of my hand, contemplating my response. “I just finished my Masters degree in social work. Maybe I’d be a counselor or something?”
“Wait, how did I not know this about you?”
I shrug. “You’ve never asked.”
“Why’d you go to grad school anyway? Seems like a waste of time and money.”
“I’m infinitely curious. And I like to help people,” I say. “After the wedding, I plan to start some organizations, use my privilege to help people. That degree taught me a lot about the injustices of the world and opened my eyes to experiences I never would’ve had otherwise. It wasn’t a waste. If anything, it was the exact opposite.”
He straightens his spine, lifts his brows, and gives an approving nod. “Well, then. I stand corrected.”
Somewhere in the house, a door opens. Shoes pad across hardwood. Keys jangle.
“Your prince charming is back from his run,” Oliver says before shouting, “In the kitchen.”
A few seconds later, Slade appears.
Shirtless.
Abs glistening.
A gray sweatband shoves his dark hair off his forehead.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning,” he mutters as he heads to the cabinet with all of his supplements. His forearm veins are particularly prominent as he mixes various powders and potions. There must be at least a dozen of them.
“Do you have any Tylenol, by chance?” I ask. “My head is pounding.”
“Tylenol is toxic.” He scoops some off-white powder into a shaker bottle. “It destroys your liver.”
“Um, okay, then how about Advil?”
He twists the cap onto the bottle and gives it a few good shakes. “Ibuprofen destroys your stomach lining.”
Oliver chuckles under his breath.
“So what do you take when you’re in pain?” I ask. “Or do you just suffer through it like a martyr?”
“I don’t get headaches,” he says, sipping his concoction. “And when I’m in pain, I use heat, ice, massage, CBD oil sometimes.”
Oliver and I exchange looks.
“Welcome to the rest of your life, Campbell,” Oliver quips.
“Try running your head under cold water,” Slade says. “That should help your headache. Or I’ve got a cold plunge tub.”
“Of course you have a cold plunge tub…” I say. “Besides, you keep your house at a frigid sixty-seven degrees. If a little bit of coldness is all it takes to get rid of a headache, I wouldn’t have gotten one in the first place.”
Slade chugs the rest of his shake before pouring a glass of filtered water and swallowing a handful of capsules.
“Going to hit the shower. Brunch is in two hours,” he says before leaving the room.
“You’re coming, right?” I turn to Oliver.
“I wouldn’t miss this shit show for the world.” He takes another sip of coffee, smirking over the rim. “No offense.”
I laugh. It feels good to have someone else to talk to about this, especially when that person has a decent sense of humor.
“Go on any hot dates lately?” I ask. Last time I was here, Oliver entertained me for hours with nice wine and humorous tales of his bachelorhood. I’ve never known someone who was both obsessed with women and obsessed with his freedom at the same time. He tends to waffle between the two states, depending on the day, and that always gets him in trouble. The man strikes me as complicated, then again, who isn’t?
My parents mentioned years ago that Oliver moved in with Delia and Victor when he was in high school because he was getting into trouble at home and his father (who was never around anyway) thought that pushing him off onto Victor and his family could provide him with some semblance of a stable home life.
While I have no doubt that it was all for the best, I imagine Oliver is probably dealing with some abandonment issues? If that’s the case, it makes perfect sense why he is the way he is.
Supposedly he was the product of an affair between Victor’s father and some college intern who signed away her rights to Oliver the second she pushed him out of her body, though knowing the Delacortes, I’d be willing to bet there was an exchange of money involved in that whole situation.
“You should come out on the water sometime,” Oliver says.
“You know how I feel about boats.” We’ve had this talk before. Growing up, everyone in Sapphire Shores had boats, but my grandfather died in a freak boating accident when I was a toddler and my parents forbade me from stepping foot on one after that. Not only that, but they took it a step further by instilling the fear of God into me when it came to all things boats.
“One day with me and you’ll wonder why you were ever scared of them in the first place. I promise you’ll be a convert when I’m done with you.”
“I don’t know …” I wrap my palms around my lukewarm mug.