Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“It’s not our fight,” I say. “Whatever the Godwins decide is up to them. We agreed to get information, and that’s what we did.”
We exit the boiler room without stopping, James’s blood-curdling screams echoing behind us.
Chapter 29
Fiora
My body is so sore I can barely get out of bed.
But I can’t say I regret it. Something about me feels lighter. Better. Maybe finally having sex with Braken—without a mask, and without the games—took away all my tension. Now that I’m not wound up, I can see things more clearly.
I need to do something about Marco. That much is clear. Whenever I thought of him before, I would get this little smile on my face that, according to Jescie, “makes you look like an absolute doofus.” I would get excited to see him, or even send him little texts during the day like our little secret. Now all I feel is a looming sense of dread at having to press the dial button to call him.
What changed? Was it taking a break and running off to Heathens Hollow to find myself? Or that he doesn’t seem to care that I did? When I told him I needed to get away for a while, he seemed completely fine with that. He didn’t even ask where I was going.
Not to mention all it took was a few sentences to have our relationship folding like a house of cards. Some of us have to work for a living. The sentence still makes me cringe.
Has everything he ever said to me been a lie? Does he really see me as nothing more than a Godwin? Papa paid for my schooling, but the hard work was all me. I earned a master’s in Public Policy, all on my own, damnit, even when everyone told me it was a waste of time. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But I always wanted to be just Fiora to someone. Not Fiora Godwin, not Braken’s fiancée, not a pawn to use for political favor. Just Fiora.
Marco was supposed to be that someone, and now I have no one.
I can’t tell if his refusal to help with Mason’s death is clouding my judgment or if my feelings died the second he became like everyone else in my life. Realization strikes me like a lightning bolt and fries my nerves. The only person in my life really trying to help… is Braken. And maybe his buddies, if you count them wanting to keep me safe by watching over me. And Braken’s hand was forced thanks to the agreement made by our fathers.
Fucking great.
This is something that needs to be discussed in person. I can’t keep running forever. If I don’t sort this out now, it will never get done.
Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone and dial Marco.
He answers on the fourth ring.
“Well, well, look who decided to finally talk to me,” Marco drawls, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Remembered us plebs now that you’re not surrounded by Daddy’s money? Braken not wealthy enough?”
I thought I might feel hurt, but it pisses me off. God, he’s like a child throwing a tantrum. I let him throw his worthless insults, knowing my silence and last night’s events hurt him. This upcoming lunch, if he accepts, will be even worse.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” I say. “I think we left last night on the wrong foot.”
“Oh, you think?”
“We should meet and talk.”
“On your dime, right?” Marco lets out a biting laugh. “Since you’re still a Godwin for a little while.”
Marco has never spoken to me like this. It’s disorienting. Maybe I’m not the only one who changed after our conversion at the burger joint.
I ward off my anger by gripping my bedsheets and drawing a deep breath. “Of course. You can pick whatever you’d like.”
“Then I’ll see you at Maxwells at noon. My days going to Heathens Hollow for you are over.”
I slowly rise from bed to get ready. And once again, I need to figure out how to get back to Seattle without my men finding out and hunting me down.
I arrive at the restaurant first and am seated at a two-person table close to the front entrance. There isn’t an empty seat in the house, the air filled with the spice of pasta sauce and the sweetness of afternoon wine. At least if anything goes wrong, I’ll have plenty of witnesses. Papa won’t be too happy if I start a scene in such a popular restaurant, though. I’ll have to play my cards right.
I’m on my second glass of wine when Marco is escorted to the table.
And he’s wearing the exact same outfit he was last night.
I try not to show any emotion as he slips into his seat. He’s doing this to play with me. Either as a redo of last night or a reminder. As soon as he grabs his glass of wine and smirks, I know it’s the latter. Have I been blind to who Marco Pollozo is for our entire friendship?