Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“At least we have cake.” Seb hopped to his feet and rolled the box over to us. The one I’d managed to get from a canceled bachelor party. “When one marriage ends, another one begins?”
“Too soon.” I groaned but tugged the bow off the box anyway and watched as the walls fell to unveil the cake.
Our jaws dropped.
Seb raised his brows, turning to me. “I thought you said this was a four-tier cake.”
“That’s what they told me.”
Nope. It wasn’t a four-tier cake, but it was a dick-shaped cake. With cute, cursive letters written on the peach frosting in black icing.
To have and to hold.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Briar Rose
Age eighteen.
The first thing I lost was my Harvard acceptance.
“We cannot afford it,” my mother announced one evening, not bothering to glance up from the Caprese salad she was making. “It’s simply impossible.”
It would be just my luck that my parents had finally managed to make it to Lake Geneva, only to crush my hopes and dreams.
She stacked basil leaves over tomatoes and fresh slices of mozzarella.
I drizzled olive oil all over. “What do you mean, we can’t afford it?”
I already knew they couldn’t afford much of the accommodations and living arrangements. Two years ago, Dad got sacked from his job for embezzlement and sank his savings into legal fees to fight his victims that sued him. Luckily, Surval Montreux had offered me scholarships.
But for college, I thought I at least had tuition covered.
“Exactly what I said.” My mother slammed a drawer shut with her hip, waltzing over to the wine fridge and yanking a bottle of white by its neck. “The senator’s summer house was a last-ditch effort to get some financing going on, but he’s bed-ridden with some sort of illness. He wouldn’t even greet us. So rude.”
“But I’ve already been accepted.”
Dad stole to cover his gambling problem. That was why he hopped from one country to the next. Apparently, casinos all over the world had blacklisted him for his poor behavior whenever he lost.
“We have no money.” She poured herself a generous glass, gesturing around us. “In fact, we’re going to have to sell this summerhouse, too.”
At her words, I tried not to keel over.
All my memories with Oliver – lost.
I’d met him for the first time in this very house. Told him I loved him on the steps near the swings. Promised to marry him upstairs on the balcony.
Keep it together, Briar Rose. School is more important. Oliver would tell you that, too.
I turned to my mother, planting a hand on my hip. “This is huge for me, Mom.”
The word mom felt wrong in my mouth whenever I said it, but I still did, hoping if I used it enough times, it would start to feel true.
She pushed her hair back, screwing her mouth at the taste of the wine. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Well, I guess I can take out some loans …”
“You have no credit,” she pointed out, almost teasing. “And hell knows our credit is awful these days.”
“Mom.” I gasped. “I can’t give up Harvard. It’s my dream.”
Well, being next to Oliver was my dream. Harvard was just a bonus.
“Go get a scholarship or something.”
“It’s too late to apply.”
“What do you want me to say?” She banged her fist on the counter. “Go to another school, then.”
“I want Harvard.”
“And I want a husband who won’t lose all our money in the casino, sweetie. Mick Jagger wasn’t kidding when he said you can’t always get what you want.”
This was what she had to say to me?
I couldn’t believe it, and yet, I found it completely on brand.
Fine. Whatever. I wouldn’t be able to change her mind – or his.
I ran up to my room, yanked my phone from its charger, and called Ollie. He would know what to do. Maybe he could even give me a loan. I would pay him back, of course. Every last penny.
As the phone rung, I threw myself on my futon and sniffled, brushing my tears away from my cheeks.
Three rings. Four rings. Five rings.
I glanced at the time. It was early on the East Coast. Why wasn’t he answering? Oliver always answered. Even if it was just to tell me he’d call me back in an hour or two. He’d done that a lot in the two weeks since Paris. With his hectic internship schedule, he showed up with dark bags under his eyes whenever we FaceTimed.
I killed the call and shot him a text to get back to me. Then, I propped my head against the backrest and scrolled through Ollie’s Instagram. The sight of his face always soothed me. We didn’t post pictures together online. I was extremely private, and Ollie was … well, not.
I noticed a new picture I hadn’t seen before, of him and Seb at a steakhouse, clinking iced tea glasses and grinning at the camera. I immediately liked it and began to scroll further when I noticed a comment from someone I didn’t recognize.