Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
He gazes up at her, smirking. “What’s the prognosis, doc?”
Gingerly, Anna lifts the ice, gasping at the small wound there. She sets the ice back down, flushed, and nods decisively. “You’ll live.”
“You sure?” he pokes. “What’s the best thing for the swelling?”
“Ice,” I tell him flatly.
My brother grins at me. “I asked the doctor-in-training.”
“Ice,” Anna says robotically.
“That’s it? You’re not going to touch it? Inspect it? Drain it?”
Anna scowls at him, and with the circle of people watching, crouches down, setting two fingers on his leg. She immediately jerks her arm back. “Wow, it’s hot.”
“Is that normal?” Jake asks, feigning worry. “Are you sure I’m not going to lose it? It’s my favorite leg.”
“It’s normal,” Anna says, cheeks turning pink from embarrassment. “It’s the… blood, and oxygen… interacting…”
“With the inflammatory cells,” I break in, frustrated with Jake, and frustrated with myself for putting her in this position in the first place. “If I’ve heard her talking about inflammation once, I’ve heard it a million times. Luckily, Jake, it looks like you’re going to live.”
He frowns up at me. “I wonder if Anna should start an IV, just to be safe.”
“I could pee on it if you want.”
Reagan gags. “Gross.”
“I’m good.” Jake waves me off.
I take Anna’s hand and tug it. “Let’s go get a nap.”
To the side, Blaire sighs. “He means ‘Let me throw you around the bed until the party tonight.’ ” I look over right as she stares meaningfully at Alex.
We turn to leave, and my older brother calls after me, “Hey, remind me, Liam. When’s your wedding anniversary? Isn’t five years coming up?”
The group goes still. Anna and I look at each other. Fuck.
She says, “August fifth,” just as I say, “August twelfth.”
Anna laughs. “Well, technically the twelfth, but the fifth was when he wrote me a song and got on his knees to sing it to me, so that’s the night I see as our actual marriage.” She looks up at me, eyes soft. “He cried.”
I frown down at her. “I didn’t cry.”
“You mean you didn’t just cry. Sobbed is more like it.” She lifts my hand and gently kisses my knuckles. “It was beautiful, babe.”
My dad, having just ended his call, walks over to us. “The fuck did she just say?”
Anna smiles up at me. “Sing a little of it for me?”
“No.”
“Oh, please?” Blaire asks. “That’s so romantic. My husband’s idea of romance is three pumps and a high five.”
“I’ll sing it to you in the bungalow, Anna. Let’s go.”
Thirteen
ANNA
West follows me into the bungalow, and I look at him expectantly.
“What?” he asks.
“You know what.”
He scowls. “I’m not going to sing.”
Housekeeping has come and gone, and I fall back onto our fresh and very neatly made bed. “You made me a medical student and an avid co-exerciser who punishes you with great sex. What’s next? Did I save a bunch of orphans from a fire? Climb Mount Everest?” He walks around the small partition to turn on the shower, and I roll to my side, calling to him, “I toyed with the idea of saying you dressed up in a Breton shirt and beret and mimed a dramatic proposal but that seemed a little too far, even for me.”
He emerges while the water warms, scrubbing his face in frustration. “I think Alex is definitely suspicious.”
“What gave it away?” I ask dryly. “Him specifically asking about our five-year anniversary?”
“I don’t want to be back in this family any more than he wants me here. Can’t he just mind his business for once in his life?”
“Maybe he would if you didn’t antagonize him.” I shake my head at him in wonder. “It seems even less credible having me here if you’re going to act like such a basket case.”
West sighs miserably. “My family brings out the worst in me.”
I make a fist of solidarity. “Keep your eyes on the prize: your inheritance.”
His face does a weird little wince, like I’ve made a dig. Have I?
I must have, because he pauses before turning back to the shower. “It’s not just about my money.”
Rolling off the bed, I walk over to him. “West, dearest! I’m not judging you! We all have things that motivate us. I’d sacrifice a virgin to get my art placed in a big show.” I pause. “Hell, even a small art show. I just want my work out there. A hundred million dollars would motivate the hell out of me. I might even kill two virgins.”
West looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t. “I’m gonna shower.”
He stares and this time, I read the translation: Linger at your own risk.
I walk out to the deck and curl up in a papasan chair, facing the ocean. The sky has grown dark to the north, and I wonder if we’ll get a storm later. I pick up my notebook and pencil, starting to sketch out the horizon when I hear that maddening shower groan. I imagine his perfect Goddamn and have to close my eyes, focusing on the sound of the waves and not on what sexy things might also elicit more sexy noises.