Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
I laughed, taking the glasses and pouring from the decanter.
“I swear, you make me feel like I’m twelve years old,” she muttered, taking her glass and sitting in the window alcove, settling amongst the cushions that had taken me six months to find.
“You have fancy cushions that probably cost you a hundred dollars a pop.” She fingered the fringe on them.
I took a sip of my wine, settling beside her. More like two hundred a pop... Not that I would tell her that. I was slightly ashamed that I’d spent that much money on pillows. Then I reminded myself that I’d worked fricking hard to be able to spend two hundred dollars on pillows and not bat an eyelash. I’d spent years counting every penny I spent, living in a crappy apartment that smelled of mold. Then more years living in a construction zone as I slowly did this house up. I had my own bakery that made a lot of money, after two years of barely breaking even. Not to mention the childhood with empty cupboards, electricity being shut off, different houses every six months, clothes that were always two sizes too small, shoes with holes in them.
Yes, I deserved the pillows. The expensive hand soap in the glass bottle, the rugs, the six different kinds of wine glasses, the French Burgundy.
I’d sacrificed my twenties for my dream home, for my successful business, for security. Financial and otherwise. Because I was yearning for something else, something more, I let myself pretend I was falling in love with a man who was completely wrong for me. Because I desperately wanted to be a mother and wife, I’d said yes to that man when he presented me with a ring that said nothing about the person I was, showing me that he had not thought about me when picking it, merely what people would say when they saw it.
Luckily, I didn’t let myself dwell on that. For too long, at least.
My thoughts strayed from Nathan to Rowan. Who was doing God knew what. He said he was going to come back. To what end, I did not know.
“Today was… a lot,” I said, taking a huge gulp of my wine.
Fiona was regarding me. “One way to put it.”
“I mean, let’s not even talk about the drama with Nathan last night,” I continued, taking yet another large sip. “But then Rowan got all…” I trailed off, thinking about the way his face had tightened in fury, the searing heat on my skin where he’d touched me. I blinked rapidly so I wouldn’t get lost in that memory. “I don’t even know how to describe all of that,” I shrugged. “But it was too much. It makes absolutely no sense.”
Fiona scrutinized me. “No sense?”
I nodded, watching the wine swirl in my glass.
“Yeah, he doesn’t even know me. And the few times he’s spoken to me, I’ve been taking his order or you know, blabbering on about Yellowstone sounding like I need to be medicated.” Embarrassment from that memory still burned hot.
Fiona didn’t reply right away, she just studied me, her lips pursed together, her eyes squinting in focus. “You’re being serious.”
My body should’ve been feeling light and relaxed as I’d drained my first glass of wine, but that wasn’t the case. I was still tense. Strung out. Especially with Fiona looking at me like that, without humor, with an intensity that wasn’t exactly characteristic for the normally lighthearted woman.
“Yes, I’m being serious,” I told her, getting up to retrieve the decanter from the bar. I’d left it over there like some kind of rookie, trying to lie about the volume of wine I would need to process the events of today. And last night.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she sighed the second I sat down, refilling both of our glasses.
Her harsh tone surprised me, as did her skeptical gaze.
“Now, sweetie, I love you,” she said, taking the glass. “I adore you. All of your quirks and your weirdness only make you a more incredible person. One of the most incredible people I know.”
“You’re saying a lot of nice things but in a mean tone,” I informed her, leaning back against the cushions, chugging more wine in an effort to relax.
I wasn’t in the habit of chugging wine. Especially expensive bottles of Bordeaux.
Fiona tilted her head, scrutinizing me. “Well, I think you need some tough love,” she hiked up a shoulder, her tone not gentle but not quite harsh either. “I never liked Nathan.”
“Shocker,” I muttered.
“I know I didn’t hide it that well, but I also managed not to punch him in the face.”
I bobbed my head in affirmation. “You did manage that.”
“I tried. My best. Even though I hated the way he treated you. Hated that he magnified all of your insecurities, that he erroneously confirmed to you all of the bad things you thought about yourself. That you still carry that. That you’re still blind to how wonderful you are.” Her eyes flickered over me. “That you don’t realize what a fucking babe you are.”