Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“So, that’s it? Destiny is at a standstill?”
It’s the first time he’s referenced that first night we met since he found out I was Mystique.
“Destiny?” I ask him. “New Yorkers don’t believe in stuff like that.” I fight to keep my voice steady.
“Well, I’m technically from the UK and you’re from Jersey. So…”
I have to look away from him. He looks so hurt. Like he wants me to tell him we can try and make things work. But I can’t open myself up to him when I know at some point things will shift and he’ll leave. I can’t let that happen to me again. I’m too bruised and broken from a lifetime of people leaving.
He sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, it’s been a blast,” he says.
I nod. I can’t speak, because my nose is starting to fizz and my stomach feels like it’s turning inside out.
“You’re the best fake fiancée a guy could ever wish for.”
The problem is, it got too real for me.
There’s no solution to the sense of loss I’m feeling right now. Accepting his dinner invitation would only prolong the inevitable.
“Glad I could help.”
Our eyes lock, like we both want to tell each other we’re feeling conflicted. I offer him a small smile that I hope says I’m sorry.
“I’ve really enjoyed having you here,” he says, oddly formal all of a sudden.
“I’ve enjoyed being here. More than I thought I would.”
“Really?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching.
My stomach flips at the hint of flirtation in his voice. “Well, the kitchen alone makes it worthwhile.”
He nods and runs a hand through his hair. “Right.”
“And the view.” I lift my chin at the wall of windows overlooking Manhattan, but don’t actually take my eyes from Leo.
“The view. Of course.”
Silence twists between us. I so badly want to stay. But I know I can’t.
“I better go and help Sophia,” I say.
He stands and pushes his hands into his pockets. “We’ll have to catch up about The Mayfair at some point.”
“But I still have a three-month trial, right?”
“Right,” he replies. “Though I’m sure you have a plan to present for the roof terrace development?”
“Oh, yes. Right. Yeah, I’ll follow up with your new assistant and put something in the calendar in a couple weeks.”
“Good,” he says. “Well, if you don’t need my help, I’m going to head to the gym.”
I flex my biceps like a complete freak. “Go get ’em,” I say and turn, shaking my head at myself and all my awkward.
I disappear into the bedroom, blinking back tears. I fill another box and a couple of bags and head to the elevators. I just want to disappear. From Leo’s apartment. From New York. From being my dad’s daughter, and all that it entails.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Leo
I don’t enjoy running on the streets of New York. There are too many people and too much traffic, but I needed to take the edge off my goodbye conversation with Jules. The gym wasn’t enough distance—I had to get out of the building entirely.
I head to the Upper East Side without making a conscious decision to do so. Though I’m on the way to Worth’s place, I make a detour. I run up Park and turn left at 79th Street. I slow my run to a walk and look up, taking in the tall brick façade, still the same as it was when I used to deliver bread here to the Hammonds, when I first met Caroline. It’s like no time has passed whatsoever. The wrought-iron railings that surround the front entrance still gleam. The windows are still blank, like their panes are all painted white, except I know it’s the effect of blinds you can see out of, but not into. For all I know, Caroline might be in there now, looking down at me.
I remember thinking that I needed to have enough money to buy a house like this for Caroline and me to raise a family in. I never doubted my ability to make that money—to make something of myself—but it was never going to be enough for her. Or her father.
“Leo,” a woman’s voice calls from behind me. I turn around and come face-to-face with Caroline, beaming at me. She still has the same air about her that she had when I first knew her. It says she’s going to be fun and mischievous and a complete handful, but everyone’s going to love her anyway. I’ve never met anyone who upholds such a perfect veneer—never breaking character. She’s always smiling. Always “on.” She’s beautiful—there’s no doubt about it.
She’s wearing gym gear and carrying a coffee—just like any New Yorker on a Saturday morning. Except from her tan to her blowout, money oozes from every pore. I have no doubt, she turned the head of every man she passed on her way home. “How wonderful to see you,” she says. “We’ve gone so many years and now twice in three days!”