Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
She kept talking, but I stopped listening because I sensed movement in the room and my head shot up.
There stood Remy three feet from the foot of my bed.
My mouth dropped open.
He spoke.
“You said we need to talk?”
“Who’s that?” Bea asked in my ear.
“Call you later,” I said hurriedly, hung up and dropped the phone on the bed. “How’d you get in here?”
“You never asked for the key back, Wyn, and obviously you didn’t change the locks.” He lifted a hand and his key ring dangled from his fingers. “Have you considered why you didn’t do that?”
Okay.
Oh God.
Oh shit.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…
He took a step forward.
I noticed he was wearing black joggers and a heathered gray, long-sleeved T-shirt that clung to his shoulders and pecs, and even in his casual, hang-out-at-home clothes, he looked like he was waiting for Grace Coddington to call him in front of the camera.
“Wyn,” he called, his tone meant to get my attention, but it wasn’t sharp.
I focused on his face, he instantly smirked, and I realized I’d been focused on his joggers.
Specifically, the crotch of them.
How was this happening?
“You wanted to talk?” he prompted.
I pulled myself together.
“Yes, but I didn’t mean immediately.”
“Are you doing anything else right now?” he asked.
“I was talking on the phone.”
“You aren’t anymore,” he pointed out.
“Because my ex-husband showed up in my bedroom.”
He nodded then asked, “Who were you talking to?”
Damn it.
“Bea,” I mumbled.
I heard the breath hiss up his nose, but he didn’t get into that.
He walked to the bathroom door, which, hidden in the dark, was a long space that included every nuance of every girlie-girls’ dream.
He flipped the switch, actually all of them, as the area all the way back to the enormous custom closet lit up.
Then he said slowly, “Jesus. It’s like Zsa Zsa Gabor threw up in here.”
That hurt.
We’d always been at one with interior design choices.
“You don’t like it?” I asked.
He turned as slowly as he’d spoken. “It’s stupidly perfect.”
“What’s ‘stupidly perfect’ mean?”
“Only you could make Swarovski chandeliers work in a fucking bathroom.”
“Remy—”
“We’re gonna fuck in that bathtub, baby.”
My nipples got hard.
“Remy,” I whispered.
He came forward and sat on the side of my bed so we could face each other, but just down, so we could do it without turning our necks.
And he wasn’t too close, which, at that juncture, I thought was kind.
“What were you talking to Bea about?” he asked quietly.
“I didn’t get a chance to say much, she answered by upsetting me.”
“Mm,” he hummed.
Okay, he was here.
Let’s go.
“I didn’t protect you from her,” I whispered.
His caramel eyes melted. “No, you didn’t.”
“She was terrible to you.”
Still doing the slow thing, he nodded.
“How bad?” I asked.
“I hate the bitch.”
Oh hell.
I wasn’t sure Remy hated anyone, even his parents, and they were hate-worthy (according to me).
“Remy, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Wyn, I did.”
I clenched my teeth.
“She was your friend, and I kept telling myself she showed up that time you were sick with that flu,” he said.
Oh God.
“I was so fucking worried about you,” he continued. “You were slurring your words, talking about asking your mom to fly out from Indiana, not making a lot of sense. Then you didn’t answer the phone. I couldn’t get Kara on the line. Bernice was on a flight, Cornell too. Bill was on shift. He’d just broken up with Janelle, and that was ugly, so she wasn’t speaking to any of us. Bea wasn’t picking up. Lisa was in Houston with me. No one was available. So I was a goddamn wreck. You were completely out of it. People die from flus, Wyn.”
Oh, Remy.
He kept speaking.
“And our kids. Stupid, fucked up, but all that was in my head was that scene in Steel Magnolias where Julia Roberts is flat out and the baby is sitting there crying and the spaghetti sauce is burning on the stove.” He drew a breath. “But we had three babies.”
Oh, Remy.
“Got a car. Weather was so fucking bad, it was insane. I couldn’t stop until I was nearly across Texas. Hit a station to get gas, called, hoping you’d answer, but Bea did. And I felt so much fucking relief, I can’t tell you. I don’t know how I didn’t fall to my knees. So that was what I’d tell myself when she unsheathed her claws. She obviously hated me, but she loved you.”
“I wished you’d made it more clear,” I said softly.
“And I wished you didn’t put me in that position, and you just knew to take my back, and dealt with it.”
I looked away.
He kept going.
“But you didn’t, and, baby, that hurt, you throwing me under that bus, making me eat the shit she said to me, the shit you told me she said to you about me, and how goddamn relentless it all was.”
God, I’d messed up.
I would do that. Tell him.
I’d rant about it, telling him all the ugly things Bea said about him.