Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Chapter Twenty-Three
SIMON
"I'm sorry about Liam," I say, once he's past the curtain. "He's an idiot."
"He is." Vanessa takes her seat. "But he's sweet."
"Sweet?"
"In his way."
"Telling me to fuck you on the balcony?"
"He's trying to help you get laid."
"Do I need the help?"
She smiles. "No. You don't." She looks from the stage. "Did you know we'd have this to ourselves?"
"No," I admit. "He arranged that."
"That's going above and beyond."
"That's Liam."
She laughs. "He reminds me of Lee. I know they'd both hate the comparison, but… they're pushy in a well-meaning way that other people find obnoxious."
"I find him obnoxious."
"I know."
"You adore your sister," I say.
"You adore Liam. And you find him obnoxious."
"I love him. I don't adore him."
She looks to the opera section below us. "I like seeing you with him. With your family. I never see that side of you. Soft. Caring. On defense."
"Defense?"
"You're still aloof, but in a loving way. It's hard to explain, but it's… I like it. That's all."
She likes it.
And she didn't insist this is casual to Liam.
It's none of his business.
But—
Is that still what she wants?
Or does she want more?
I sit next to her. "I have to admit. I didn't invite you here to make you come on the balcony."
"You didn't?"
I nod. "I want to watch La Traviata with you."
"To actually watch it?"
"Yes."
She presses her lips together, considering it. Asking herself if she's willing to break her own rules to touch me.
It's thrilling.
Intoxicating.
Sexy as fuck.
But I know her now. And I know where she draws her lines.
"Briar and Liam got into an argument once," I say.
"Only once?"
A laugh spills from my lips. Eases the tension in my shoulders. I'm nervous. Even though she's already spent two hours with my family.
She endured dinner with Liam and stuck around.
That's dedication.
It's terrifying.
And this—
The way my heart is racing, the desire to know her, deep in my bones, this need to prove I'm not the heartless bastard she sees me as.
I've been to the opera before. Sat in the balcony with a client. Or a date.
I appreciate the theatricality, the technical prowess, the historical context—
But I never feel anything.
Vanessa might not care about opera, but she cares. Her ability to care is infinite.
She doesn't want a heartless bastard.
She wants someone who feels.
"Many times," I say. "One of them, she was debating the term 'Netflix and chill.'"
"People still say that?"
"It was a few years ago. Before they were together."
"At work?"
"A work party. They agreed it was a useless term. Liam thought it was sad to need a euphemism. She thought it was ridiculous. If someone wanted to come over to watch TV, they were watching TV. Who hooks up in the middle of a perfectly good TV show? That's insulting to the show."
"What was the argument?"
"Liam trying to push her buttons."
"Of course."
"Saying she must not know good sex if she thought a TV show could compare."
"Rough."
"She pushed back. Said he must not have enough brain cells to follow the story, so of course he needed to switch to sex."
Vanessa laughs. "She's tough."
"She is."
"Was she right?"
"About Liam? No. He's smarter than he looks."
"The TV part?"
"I don't know. We didn't have a TV growing up. We read, went to the theater, listened to records."
"Classical?"
"Mostly, but Dad had a soft spot for new wave."
"Really? Mr. Pierce listened to Depeche Mode?"
It's strange, her referring to my father as Mr. Pierce. Familiar and foreign at once. "Mostly The Cure."
"Your dad was rocking out to The Cure?"
"He was."
"Did he wear eyeliner too?"
"There's one picture."
"That he found and burned?"
A laugh spills from my lips. "It was in his desk, in his study. He brought it out when old friends came over. Preston especially."
"That's hard to imagine."
"I didn't believe it the first time I saw it. It's always strange seeing young pictures of your parents, realizing they're human the way you are. But it was more than that. I'd never seen him in jeans."
"He went to our school?"
"No. Liam's. Mom didn't want us at an all-boy's school."
"Why did he go?"
"Liam and Bash? It was Preston's idea, but I was quick to agree. I needed someone watching them carefully. Every weekend."
"A proper boarding school?"
I nod.
"That's why Liam was always sleeping around. The rebellion to the all-boy's school?"
"Tell him that. He'd like it."
"Do you regret that decision?"
"No. It was good for them."
"Do you ever wish it was you?" she asks. "At the all-boy's school."
"Never."
"I did." She smiles. "When we were younger, I wished you'd gone to the all-boy's school my dad discussed."
"So you could win mock trial."
"You still think about mock trial?"
"Not the way you mean?"
"Not your victory?"
"No. I'm not gaining nutrients from the memories."
"Does it work with memories?"
"Only fresh victory."
She laughs. "Of course."
"It was the first time I saw you in a pencil skirt and heels."
"Oh."
"I wanted to roll the wool up your thighs and bend you over the table."
She swallows hard. "I wanted to kiss you to shut you up."