Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Given time, I think you’ll come to appreciate having me around.”
And that’s what I’m worried about.
“I’m very thorough. I never leave a job half done.”
Fuck, I’m half done. The dead brother trick didn’t last long.
“I promise you, Leif, I won’t let you down.”
“Of course she won’t,” Polly says, lifting her glass. “And I think that’s something we can all drink to.”
Fuck.
5
MIMI
After Polly’s planned lunch ambush, when Whit offers me a ride home, I try not to get too excited. I know what the topic of conversation will be.
Spoiler alert: not the fun stuff.
“It’s three houses down from here,” I say, pointing at Aunt Doreen’s house. “You really didn’t need to drive me all the way out here, you know. I have my Oyster travel card. I really enjoy taking the Tube.”
“You enjoy the novelty,” he states. “It won’t last long.”
I give a little giggle. “You are like a dog with a bone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t about to suggest I live too far out to travel into the city every day.”
“As if I’d even presume,” he mutters flatly.
“You totally would if you thought it would work to keep me from the office.”
“Edgeware might as well be Middle-earth,” he huffs as his fancy sports car glides to a stop in the tree-lined residential street. Uniform red-brick terraced houses flank both sides, neatly painted front doors and garden gates showing the inhabitant’s individuality.
“Why are you staying with your aunt, anyway?” Whit’s hand slides from the leather steering wheel, and as he turns in his seat to face me, the heady scent of his cologne blends with that of the expensive leather interior.
“It was a compromise.” I slide my hair behind my ear and duck my gaze. Now is probably not the right time to wrap my hands in his jacket to jerk him closer so I can sink my nose into his collar. “My parents,” I say with a tight shrug. “They didn’t want me to leave.”
“They were against you moving to London?”
“They’re against me going anywhere,” I say, shifting against the warm leather seat.
“You’re twenty-four.” His brows pinch a little, but I don’t expect him to understand.
“I’m aware.” And ready to make up for lost time. The new Mimi has limited time and a limited budget and a mantra to live by: life is short, so get you some. Life. Sex. Eat the cake. Whatever. “After losing Connor, they became fearful, I guess.” They see danger everywhere. I’m only sad I let it get this far.
“I’m sure that’s understandable.”
“So is wanting to live my own life.” My reply is more than a touch defensive.
“And your aunt is… nice?”
“She’s kind of crazy,” I say with a chuckle, glancing toward her house. Aunt Doreen isn’t really my aunt. She’s more of a distant relation. My grandmother’s second cousin or something. When I made my intentions clear to my parents, when I told them I was coming to London before—
Deep breath. In for three, out for four.
When I told them I was coming to London, they were dead set against it. Tears were cried and guilt was liberally used, but given I’d recently undergone a literal come to Jesus moment, I’d dug in my heels and put my needs and wants in front of theirs for the first time since Connor died. My stubborn streak had come as a shock to them, though there wasn’t a whole lot they could do about it. But because I’m also a loving and mostly dutiful daughter, I agreed to stay with family to give them some peace. My parents weren’t always like this, but they have more reason than most to want to wrap me in cotton.
“The good kind of crazy, I hope,” he says, ducking his head to stare out the passenger side window. “Is that a pink front door?”
“Yep. That’s the kind of crazy Aunt Doreen is.”
“Is she a fan of Barbie, this aunt of yours?”
“That’s more Pepto-Bismol pink than Barbie.”
“Did she get the paint cheap?” He frowns at the door as though it offends him.
“It’s bright and cheerful,” I say in her defense. “And we can’t all live in a fancy penthouse or hire a decorator. Or live in palaces of monotone.”
Those striking eyes flit my way, and I know what he’s thinking. I’ve been to his apartment. And I found a little bit of paradise there.
He clears his throat. “Palaces of monotone?”
“Yes.” I nod like I mean it. Like the color palette offends me when I haven’t even thought about it.
“I suppose it is a bit…”
“Boring,” I mutter, supplying the words he wasn’t looking for.
“Are you enjoying living in London?” he says in a subject change.
So we’re going to beat around all the bushes. Now that we’re alone, we’re going to ignore what happened that night. Fine, I can play along. “So far, I like it a lot.”