Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
It’s just that…
I chew a nail as I stare at my phone. I’ve kept it in airplane mode, mostly, only turning it back on for brief stretches when I can stand the message barrage or I want to get online.
Being without it has been kinda liberating. The phone feels like a tether to my old life, and with it off, I can pretend the past doesn’t exist.
If only.
With a heavy heart and fingers that absolutely do not shake—because that would be ridiculous—I switch modes and wait for the notifications to come screaming in.
My phone buzzes like a manic vibrator for a good three minutes.
I drum my fingers as I wait.
Finally.
I find my dad’s contact and call him.
“Winnie?” he answers instantly, breathing heavily. “Is that you?”
“Hi, Dad. Who else were you expecting?”
Silence.
It spreads down the line like a flash freeze. He just has this weird aura where he doesn’t need to say a single word to stop your heart. I guess that comes with being Attorney General, the power to intimidate.
But I’m so sick of it I’m not scared today.
“Winnie,” he says, a warning in his voice. “What the hell did you think you were playing at?”
Closing my eyes, I sigh so heavily I’m sure he can feel it in his bones on the other end of the line.
“Isn’t it obvious, Dad? Like really?”
“Hardly.”
“I couldn’t go through with it. The wedding, marrying Holden, living that life… no thanks.”
“Winnie—”
“I know. I know I should’ve made my mind up much sooner, and trust me, I wish I had”—it’s not like I wanted to be a pushover for so long—“and yes, I’m sorry for putting everybody on the spot and wasting a lot of money. But I couldn’t marry a man who didn’t love me. I couldn’t settle for being his arm candy.”
“Goddamn you, stop being so childish,” he snarls. “Do you know I nearly launched a statewide manhunt after you left? I was on the phone daily with state troopers. I thought you were mentally unwell, that you’d snapped. For all I know, maybe you have.”
“Dad! That’s not fair. My mind’s never been clearer.”
“We had a plan, Wynne. Then you burned it and left to chase these—these ridiculous juvenile fantasies.”
My spine stiffens.
That’s classic Dad, all right, dismissing everyone else’s needs as immature perversions because they don’t align with his. Has he ever tried to relate once?
“I’m not chasing fantasies,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re not being fair. I want you to listen.”
“Then what are you doing? We had everything mapped out, and if it comes down to being happy, Holden would have given you a wonderful life. He would have provided for you, everything you ever needed.”
Everything but love, he means.
Without love, I can’t do it.
I can’t marry a man I have no feelings for.
“I never felt anything for him, Dad. We barely know each other.”
“Nonsense! You’ve been attending charity events and campaign mixers together since you were sixteen. You always sat beside Holden. I made sure of it.”
“You tried pairing us off, you mean. That doesn’t mean I knew him, much less liked him.” I’m pacing now, frantic energy firing through my veins. “So what if we attended a few stuffy speeches? We barely talked, and when we did, it was always about surface stuff. I know his political ambitions. I know he hates gravy. I know he met three former presidents.”
“Now listen—”
“But that doesn’t mean anything. I know shit like that about celebrities, people I’ve never met.”
“Watch your language,” he says, danger thrumming in his voice.
Oh right, I’d forgotten.
Perfect ladylike daughters of the illustrious Carroll Emberly don’t swear.
They don’t curse or wear short skirts or drink more than two glasses of wine at big glam dinners.
The many times Holden or Dad discreetly stole my second glass of wine from my hand because it wasn’t appropriate, I swear.
The memory alone leaves me vibrating with rage.
I’m so over it. I can’t stop the words spilling out now.
“Holden never once opened up to me,” I say. “I don’t know anything but the basics about his childhood and growing up as a senator’s son. I don’t know his fears, his dreams—not his ambitions, but his dreams—or his weaknesses.”
Dad sighs, pure derision cutting through the phone like a razor.
“Don’t do this to me again, Winnie.” His voice is heavy and exhausted.
Maybe so, but I’m not stopping.
“I know he’s allergic to cats. I know he doesn’t like shrimp, but I don’t know what he would do if he found a hurt squirrel in his backyard. I don’t know what he’s like when he’s cooking, or even if he can cook because we’ve only eaten at restaurants.”
“And? I don’t know what that has to do with—”
“I don’t know what he looks like first thing in the morning before he’s washed his hair. I don’t know what he looks like when he laughs—I mean really laughs.” Honestly, I’m not sure that man can laugh. I think he’s missing the humor gene. “We’ve been together since…” I stop, thinking back.