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)
“My condolences.”
“I’m serious.” She flicked my chest, her entire face lit up. “I remembered something about my past. But …” She frowned, tilting her head. “I can’t remember you visiting me at all. Wasn’t I supposed to go to Harvard? Why didn’t I go? Were we broken up at this point?”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
“Uh-huh. What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?”
“Because I would never risk our relationship. I’m too crazy about you.”
Something prickled in my chest. A heart attack? No. Worse. Much worse. Okay, fuck, this was bad. Because it made me feel something. Something that wasn’t a total disdain for life.
“Fine, yes. It was me,” I grumbled.
She gasped. “Did you cheat?”
My mouth dropped. “No. I’d never cheat on you.”
Briar knotted her arms. “And on other girlfriends?”
“Irrelevant. There weren’t any and never will be.”
This was the god-awful truth.
She shifted from foot to foot, arms still crossed, obviously waiting for an answer.
“I kind of …” I stuck my fingers in my hair, close to drawing blood with how hard I raked my scalp. “… got cold feet for a while. I was going through something and needed time off from all of my relationships. I wasn’t in contact with Zach and Rom, either.”
“Oh.” Her voice turned soft. “I hope you can catch me up on what happened to you. We need to support each other. Now, let me see your clutter.”
“No can do.” I grabbed her shoulders – still dainty and delectable – and spun her around, marching her right back to the north wing of the house, with the libraries, guestrooms, master bedroom, and office. “My therapist says it’s better if you don’t see it. I don’t want you to say something mean about it.”
“What? I would never do that.”
“Already did.”
I hated lying to her and hated making her sound like an asshole even more, but I had no choice. The world might end if she went anywhere near that part of the house.
Seriously. I wouldn’t put it past him to smother me with a pillow in my sleep. It was the least I could do for him. But that would require him stepping out of his wing. He wouldn’t. He roamed those darkened hallways day and night, sulking, seething, festering in his own anger.
She stopped, surprised. “I did?”
“Yes.” I tugged her along. “You asked me if I was sure I had enough stuff, because I could still squeeze in a needle by the right-hand side of the ceiling.”
“Oh my god, that is so insensitive of me.” Briar cupped her mouth. “Why would I say that?”
“You’re a mean drunk.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Water under the bridge.”
I was going to hell. And to punish me, they’d bring my family along with me. I’d probably have to watch my beloved parents burning at the stake of my sins 24/7.
Briar plastered a hand on her heart, shaking her head. “You can’t let me drink alcohol from now until the wedding.”
“Just promise me you’ll never venture there,” I pressed, loathing the anxious edge in my voice. “Last time you went in there, you got buried in a pile of newspapers. It took forty-eight hours and an elite team to dislodge you from that mess. You were bundled in a copy of The Atlantic like a fish.”
“I am so sorry.”
She was so going to kill me when she got her memory back. Slowly. And painfully. I would probably get turned on by it, but still.
She paused just short of the master bedroom. “By the way, when do I get to meet our friends?”
Hopefully never.
They would ruin everything by reminding me this was not real. For the first time in a long time, I was having fun. Briar was gorgeous, funny, witty, and strongminded without being batshit.
But see – therein lied the problem.
The only way to destroy a dream was to make it come true.
I finally had Briar Rose.
I was going to lose her in spectacular fashion.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Briar
I didn’t buy the hoarder excuse.
Oliver had exited the womb a minimalist. Well, as minimalist as a nepo-billionaire could be. For as long as I remembered (literally), he kept his cars pristine, his room neat and bare, and only a single black card in his wallet, unlike the one the hospital had returned to me, stuffed to the brim with coupon cards, and pennies, and wrinkled dollar bills.
Even now, without the help of dozens of staff, his house remained spotless. Twenty-thousand feet and not a single thread out of place. I filed this into memory to investigate the south wing as soon as Oliver stopped fussing around me.
He’d left me alone only for a pee break and to swap into a cute dress from the closet. (I, however, had apparently left a mess in the master bedroom. Shirts, and shoes, and jeans everywhere. I had the decency to apologize and promised to clean it up in the morning.)