Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Fletcher scratches his jaw. “Like a sister?”
I shrug, not missing his subtle jab. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in such detail.”
He seems to think about my explanation for a few seconds.
“We should have been more respectful of Jolene and Pauline being here,” I continue. “Had I known I was gonna be invited to a formal breakfast, I would not have engaged in … the butter incident.”
Kissing Fletcher’s ass robs little bits of my soul. The alternative is rather soul-crushing as well.
“When was the last time you visited Archer?” Fletcher punches me in the gut with his swift subject change. They’ve been friends since they were ten, twelve years before I was born. I’m one of those “oops” kids whose brother is old enough to be my father.
I slowly shake my head.
“Jesus, Milo … he’s your brother. He’s in prison because of you, and you’ve never fucking visited him?”
“Because of me?” I shake my head, unable to bring my gaze back to Fletcher’s. “He committed murder.”
“And why is that?”
I force myself to make eye contact with him. My jaw clenches for a second. “How many times are we going to have this same conversation?”
The lines in his leathered forehead deepen. “Go see him. Make things right before he dies.”
“Make things right? Christ, Fletcher … nothing is right about what happened. Nothing is right about his life being cut short like this. Nothing is right about …” I bite my tongue. God, it hurts, but I do it.
Nothing is right about you putting yourself in the position to own my whole fucking life. The puppeteer.
“Jolene said you had a nice dinner last night.” Again, Fletcher whips the conversation in another direction and picks a subject I don’t care to discuss.
“I did. I got the prime rib. It was the best I’ve ever had.”
He glowers at me, as usual, not getting my humor.
I sigh, tapping my fingers on the arm of the chair. “We discussed this arrangement. I wondered if she felt as enthusiastic about it as you and Pauline. But she’s…” I twist my lips “…dedicated to this family.”
“And you?” He cants his head, crossing his arms.
“Is that a real question?”
Fletcher concedes with a single nod and stands. “Breakfast is waiting. Please don’t encourage misbehavior from Indiana. She’s been unusually challenging and unbearable lately.”
I disagree. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed her behavior lately.
We make our way to the dining room, where the ladies are already seated.
“Mimosa?” Jolene nods to the champagne glass next to hers.
I take a seat, glancing up at Indie, her wet hair braided in pigtails and a mischievous smirk plastered to her beautiful face.
“Mmm … sounds good.” I take a sip.
“Mine is just orange juice.” Indie sips her juice before offering everyone a toothy grin. “Can’t wait until I’m old enough to have and do adult things.”
I clear my throat, so I don’t choke on my drink. Visions of her drunken gaze, eyes drifting shut while my head was between her spread legs, rush to the front of my brain. It was “adulting” at its best.
Indie wets her lips, trying to hide her knowing grin. Of course, she knows where my mind’s at right now.
“Mom, Milo hinted that he might need some help planning the honeymoon.”
Pauline’s spine straightens. “I’d love to help you plan your honeymoon. Although I’m not sure location matters if you’re not likely to leave the bedroom.”
Jolene blushes.
Fletcher rolls his eyes.
I remain neutral.
And Indie shoves half a croissant into her mouth, keeping her chin tipped toward her plate.
“Have you decided where you’re living?” Fletcher asks.
“You should stay in Milo’s barn,” Indie mumbles with her mouth full, which earns her disapproving scowls from everyone but me. “I used to stay there after Ruthie died. The bed is so comfy.”
I hope Fletcher realizes that I did not start this conversation and therefore didn’t present the perfect opportunity for Indie to “misbehave.”
“You stayed with Milo?” Jolene’s perfectly symmetrical brows stretch up her forehead while she rearranges all three berries on her plate with her fork.
“Yes. God … I’ve slept with Milo so many times, I’ve lost count.”
Fuck, Indie girl … you’re killing me.
Fletcher clears his throat. “Indiana …”
I have to swallow my amusement. Indie deserves to be free of this life. Her personality is too big for the stuffiness of this kind of sick wealth and entitlement.
“That sounds bad, Indie,” Pauline scorns before sipping her mimosa. “You need to clarify that he let you sleep in his bed while he slept on the sofa, right?” She shifts her gaze to me with desperate hope in her eyes.
I pick up a piece of bacon and pause it at my lips. “Of course.” I smile before tucking the whole piece into my mouth.
“That’s a cute idea, Indie, but I don’t think I’m cut out to live in a barn.” Jolene scoffs.