Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“Just like me?” I ran my hands down my face. “I’m nothing like you.”
Her expression softened. “Oh, my little heart. You took off for college, and what did you find? A lonely, older man to take care of you. You may have graduated, but don’t lie to yourself—you weren’t there for an education; you were husband hunting, just like I was at that age.”
“I wasn’t,” I fired back. “I met Damian on campus while he was researching filming locations.”
Pity…God, that was pity in her eyes. “Oh, honey, and you don’t think the fact that your last name was Stanton had anything to do with it?”
I lifted my chin in the air. “He didn’t know. Not when we met.”
“You keep believing that.” She checked her phone again.
“It’s true!” It had to be. The last eight years of my life were a lie if it wasn’t.
Mom sucked in a deep breath and rolled her eyes heavenward, like she was praying for patience. “Dear, dear Georgia. The sooner you come to grips with the truth, the happier you’ll be.”
Color flashed through the window beside the door. Her ride was here.
“And what truth is that, Mom?” She was leaving again. How many times was this? I’d stopped keeping count when I was thirteen.
“When you have someone like your gran in the family, it’s nearly impossible to get out from under that kind of shadow.” She tilted her head. “He knew. They all know. You have to learn to use it to your advantage.” Her soft tone was at odds with her harsh words.
“I’m not you,” I repeated.
“Maybe not yet,” she admitted, grabbing the first suitcase. “But you will be.”
“Leave your key.” Never again. This was the last time she’d blow into my life and leave once she got what she wanted.
She gasped. “Leave my key? To my grandmother’s house? My father’s house? You are a lot of things, Georgia, but cruel isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“Do you know how that makes me feel?” Her hand flew to her chest.
“Leave. Your. Key.”
She blinked back tears as she pried the key from the ring, then dropped it into the crystal vase on the entry table. “Happy now?”
“No,” I said softly, shaking my head. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be happy again.
I stood there frozen in the same entry hall she’d left me in so many times before and watched her struggle with her suitcases without offering to help.
“I love you,” she said, waiting in the doorway for my reply.
“Have a safe flight, Mom.”
She bristled and closed the door.
Then the house was quiet.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, watching a door I knew from experience would only open again when it was convenient for her. Knowing I was never what she’d wanted and cursing myself for letting my guard down and believing otherwise. The grandfather clock ticked steadily from the living room, somehow steadying my heartbeat. It was a hundred-year-old pacemaker.
Every other time she’d walked out, I’d had Gran’s arms around me.
Alone wasn’t a harsh-enough word for whatever this was.
I pulled myself together and turned back to head for the kitchen, only to be stopped by a knock at the door.
I may have been naive, but I wasn’t green. Mom had forgotten something, and it wasn’t me. She hadn’t abandoned her plans. Hadn’t had a change of heart.
But still, that damnable kernel of hope flickered in my chest as I opened the door.
A set of darker-than-sin eyes stared down at me under a cocked brow as his mouth slowly curved into a wry smile.
Noah Harrison was on my porch.
“Try to hang up on me now, Georgia.”
I slammed the door in his gorgeous, smug, romance-minded little face.
Chapter Ten
September 1940
Middle Wallop, England
Jameson had been born to fly the Spitfire. It was agile, responsive, and moved like it was an extension of his body, which was just about the only advantage he had in combat.
Was Great Britain cranking out planes at an unprecedented rate? Yes. But what they needed were pilots with more than twelve hours in the cockpit heading into a dogfight.
The German pilots were more experienced, with more hours, more aces, and more confirmed kills in general. Thank God the Nazi long-range capabilities were shit, or the RAF would have lost the Battle of Britain more than a month ago.
But they were still in it.
Today had been the hardest yet. He’d barely rested between launches, and that had been at airfields that weren’t his own. London was under attack. Hell, the whole island was. It had been for the last week, but today the skies were heavy with smoke and aircraft. The Nazi assault seemed endless. They were pummeled by wave after wave of bombers and their fighter escorts.
Adrenaline sang through his body as he zeroed in on an enemy aircraft somewhere to the southeast of London, coming up on the fighter’s tail nice and close. Closer made it easier to hit his target. It also made it easier to go down with them. The enemy began a steep climb, taking them nearly vertical as Jameson chased him through a heavy layer of clouds. His stomach pitched.