Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Twenty-five bricks per row,” I murmur.
“Times twelve rows,” he adds.
“Three hundred total.”
His lips quirk up. “Unless you count the half bricks at the ends.”
“Do you?” I ask, meaning so much more than bricks.
“Count the broken pieces?” His eyes meet mine, full of understanding. “Every single one.”
We stay there, kissing and occasionally counting, aware we’re avoiding bigger truths. Both of us aware that, at some point, we’ll have to face what this really is. What we really are. But for now, we keep pretending and telling ourselves we aren’t falling in love.
FIFTEEN
lee
The definition of freedom can be many things to many people. For me, freedom smells like coffee and Thai takeout, not bourbon and old money. My new apartment isn’t much, nothing like Sterling Manor, but it’s mine. It’s amazing what a change in atmosphere can do to a person’s mood. Inside these walls are no judgmental portraits, no father’s disapproving sighs echoing down hallways, no mothers rearranging everything I own to be more suitable.
Inside this place, I can be me, and that’s a freedom I’ve never truly experienced before.
I sprawl on my couch, counting the water stains on the ceiling just because I can. I could’ve rented out one of the apartments at Drew’s newly built complex, but I didn’t want to ask, nor did I want him to think I wanted a handout. Plus, this place makes me feel better—less like the famous playboy and more like a normal fucking guy.
Speaking of normal. I’m pretty sure Salem’s habits are becoming mine, but here, alone, I don’t mind. It’s weirdly soothing. Even when I don’t need to count or measure or sanitize for Salem’s sake, I still find myself doing it anyway because I’ve realized it settles me.
It helps to ground me and remind myself of who I am instead of who the world wants me to be. Choosing to forgo another round of counting tiles, I let my gaze travel around the room.
One, two, three spots that need fixing. Four boxes left to unpack. Five reasons I’m never going back to … My phone buzzes with an incoming call. I pick it up and stare at the screen. My Mother’s face fills it, her perfectly composed image somehow managing to look disappointed even in digital form.
Fuck.
“Mother.” I don’t answer until the third ring because I know it irritates her to wait.
“Darling.” Her voice drips honey-coated venom. “I trust you’re settling into your alternative living situation?”
I close my eyes, counting breaths like Salem taught me. “The apartment is fine.”
“Hmm.” The sound carries years of disapproval. “And your … relationship? The one that prompted this ill-advised move toward independence?”
My jaw clenches. Of course. She’s checking up on my “progress.” Making sure I’m still playing straight for the family name.
“Salem is fine.” More than fine. Perfect, actually, in ways I can’t explain to anyone, especially not my mother.
“Wonderful.” She doesn’t sound like it’s wonderful at all. “Then you’ll both attend the foundation’s charity gala next weekend. The Sterlings are hosting this year, and the event is set to take place at The Grand Hotel downtown.”
It’s not a question. Not even close to a request. My mother doesn’t ask. She commands.
“Mother—”
“The entire board will be there,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “And the Hendersons. Their daughter, Charlotte, is newly single, in case you were wondering. It’s really such a shame her engagement ended.”
Again, she doesn’t sound as if she’s saddened by the news. What it really sounds like she’s saying is, follow my orders, do what you’re told, and wear the mask I want or face the consequences. Did I mention that image is everything to her?
“We’ll be there.” The words taste like ash. “Text me the details.”
“Wonderful.” This time, she means it, and that terrifies me. “Oh, and Lee? Do make sure your girlfriend knows how to behave at these events. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate incidents to take place.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. Before I can defend Salem or tell my mother to fuck off or explain that Salem is worth ten of their society princesses. And just like that, the freedom I felt earlier is ripped right out from underneath me. It’s an illusion. With my mother meddling in my life, I’ll never be free, not truly.
“Fuck!” I hurl my phone onto the couch and run both my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. Guilt eats away at my insides. This obsession with Salem is out of control. I never should’ve taken an interest in her or looked into who she was and what made her so unique. Now I have to wonder if bringing her into this was ever a good idea. She can barely handle coffee shops on bad days. How the hell is she going to manage a ballroom full of Sterling-approved vultures?