Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Saying dinner was a terrible ordeal would be like calling a tsunami wet.
Dinner wasn’t terrible.
It was violent carnage of Jack-the-Ripper proportions. The total annihilation of the measly scraps of my soul.
Ironically, the whimsical setup reminded me of a fairytale. A long rustic dining table stretched the perimeter of the dock, flanked by wooden benches. On the simple linen tablecloth, faux antler candelabras and blue roses checkered the center strip.
The candles glowed orange, haloing our faces. Gentle waves lapped against the shore, tangling with the sand before retreating. We stuffed our faces with carved pomegranates, imported champagne, and fresh rustic bread.
It was all perfect. Utterly perfect.
Other than the company.
“Thornless roses.” Briar picked up one of the roses, plucked fresh from our garden, and examined the velvety petals between her delicate fingers. A bitter smile swept across her cheeks. “Plucking thorns from a rose is like declawing a cat. It leaves them helpless to protect themselves. Is this the kind of man you are, Ollie?”
All eyes at the table swung to me.
“No.” I wrangled in the spike of frustration, trying to sound blasé. “I was just worried about Dallas getting injured. She’s, uh, unique.”
Romeo set down his steak knife, patted the corners of his mouth like a seasoned aristocrat, and proceeded to snarl at me, “You’re about to undergo some very fucking unique surgeries to reattach your bones if you don’t apologize to my wife right now.”
His wife, however, did not take offense.
“Briar, I love your dress.” Dallas slapped her ample cleavage, clad in an embroidered Valentino dress that cost more than a New York apartment. “Where is it from?”
“Let me check.” Briar reached back and snapped the tag from the neck of her brown polka dot dress, squinting at it. The sound of fabric ripping tore through the air. “Looks like this is Target’s finest.” She turned to give me a wide-eyed stare. “Really, Ollie? You couldn’t invest in decent clothes for me? Are you that cheap?”
Romeo choked into his whiskey sour. Zach snorted. Frankie’s eyes ping-ponged between me and my fake fiancée.
I drew in a deep, calming breath. “It’s all you, my little environmental warrior. You don’t believe in designer clothes.”
“It’s clothes, not astrology. It’s not a matter of belief.” Briar rolled her eyes, knocking back my entire flute of champagne. “This is fast fashion. Luxury fashion isn’t antithetical to sustainability. Stella McCartney, Burberry, Chloé. Plenty of designers have sustainable collections. Just admit that you’re stingy.”
That summed up the gist of our dinner. All forty-seven minutes of it. Someone would ask Briar something or compliment her, and she’d find a way to use the new topic to rip me a new one.
I was currently the not-so-proud owner of about fifteen new holes, and the caterers hadn’t even served the main course.
“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow,” I mumbled into my Negroni. I needed something stronger. Cyanide, for instance.
The only reason I hadn’t drowned Briar in luxurious frocks was because Doctor Cohen had highlighted the importance of keeping her old things available to her – including her wardrobe. It could be detrimental for her to encounter an entire closet full of things she never chose.
My heavy gaze crept up to Sebastian’s window. The blackout curtains covered the full length. If I hadn’t clung onto every inch of the fabric, I would’ve missed it. The slightest ruffle. Seb was there. Pressed against the window. Hidden behind the curtain.
He wants to be down here.
He wants to live again.
But he wouldn’t, so I downed the rest of the cocktail, wishing I had, indeed, opted for cyanide.
Since I refused to acknowledge the millionth fight she’d tried to pick, Briar ignored my words, finding me of no interest to her.
“So, Romeo. Is your job as an arms dealer full-time?” She turned to him. “I don’t know what that’s like, since my husband-to-be doesn’t work.”
He pressed his lips together, stifling a laugh. “Correct.”
“You know, just yesterday, I walked the property and found it to be a little dull. I wondered if you could do me a favor.”
“He can.” Dallas nodded on behalf of her husband, without even hearing what the favor entailed. “Whatever you want, dude. We’ve got you.”
“Thank you.” Briar grinned into her vegetarian soup joumou, watching everyone’s face for signs of horror. “I hate to be a bother, but I just didn’t know where else to get a flamethrower.”
Farrow choked on a piece of bread. Zach dropped his spoon inside his poulet aux noix and patted her back.
“How fun.” Dallas lit up, saluting Briar with her drink. “What for?”
“I’m in my goth girl era.” Briar pointed to the cliff across the lake. “The bushes over there are just so green. They’re really ruining the vibe.”
Romeo curved an eyebrow, interrupting the stunned silence first. “So, you want to … burn it?”
“What?” Briar looked around, feigning surprise. “Do you know of another way to turn it black fast? Plus, destroying shit is super therapeutic. Ask Oliver. He does this to his own life every few years.”