Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“I need better friends.” Amiee laughs, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror, and I smile at her.
When we reach the front of the long line of cars that are either dropping people off or waiting to be parked by the valet my mom set up for the evening, I pick up my clutch from the seat next to me, then scoot across it to the passenger door.
“Thank you for the ride.”
“Any time, darlin’, and if you need a ride later, I should be in the area.”
“Thanks.” I start to push the door open, but a young guy—probably sixteen or seventeen—gets it before me.
“Good evening,” he mumbles, looking uncomfortable in the dress shirt he’s wearing while his mop of dirty blond hair falls into his eyes.
“Good evening.” I swing my legs out of the car at the same time to avoid flashing him as I get out. Once I’m on my feet, I adjust my dress. The cabernet-colored tulle material with sequins glitters, and while the corset bodice is stretchy, the dress is also short and tight, so there isn’t much adjusting I can do.
As the kid closes the door behind me, I press my clutch against my stomach, which is swarming with anxiety, and walk up the steps to the open door of the house, where I can see dozens of people inside. You’d think after attending parties like this my whole life that I would be used to them, but I’m not. Crowds and people make me uncomfortable, especially these people, with their fake smiles and even faker personalities, each a copy-and-paste of the man or woman next to them.
Stepping over the threshold into the house, I scan the open foyer for my mother, but she’s nowhere in sight, which is a surprise. Normally, she’s at the door greeting people as they arrive.
“Champagne?” a young woman in a crisp white dress shirt and bowtie asks, holding a silver tray out toward me.
“Please.” I take one of the flutes and down the cold liquid in one gulp, watching her eyes widen.
“Thank you.” I place the glass down on her tray and pick up another. If I’m going to make it through tonight, I’m going to need to be tipsy, which is why I didn’t drive myself.
“Uh… you’re welcome.” Her smile is wonky.
Smiling back, I take the full glass with me and move through the crowd, avoiding eye contact by keeping my head lowered and my eyes on my feet. The only thing that sucks is I can still hear the whispers as I pass people.
This is the first event I’ve attended since Matthew and I separated, and I’m sure most of the people here now know we are divorced and they’re coming up with their own versions of why that happened.
He cheated? I cheated? We couldn’t have kids? He worked too much? I was too focused on my business?
None of it’s true—well… not most of it anyway.
Walking around the corner into the living room—which is more of a showroom since no one uses it unless there’s a party—I stumble back after running headfirst into someone coming around it from the opposite side. Their huge body almost knocks me off my feet and hits my hand just right so that my cold champagne splashes across my chest and down the front of my dress, making me gasp.
“Shit.” Large, warm hands wrap around my bare upper arms as I lift my gaze up and up to eyes a shade of blue that are so uniquely beautiful they remind me of one of my favorite paintings by Vincent van Gogh. My eyes leave his, and I quickly scan the rest of his features: blond hair that is a touch too long, square jaw, full lips, and heavy brow. I don’t know him, but I swear there is something familiar about him. “You okay?” he asks.
“Just soaking wet?”
“Sorry.” An attractive half-smile forms at the edge of his lips. “I normally use a little more finesse when getting a woman to that point.”
It takes a moment for what he just said to register in my head, and when it does, I go wide-eyed and gasp, my hand landing on his warm, hard chest. My head falls back to my shoulders, and I laugh harder than I have in a very long time. He must not be from around here or know who I am. None of the men at this party tonight would ever make such a crude joke—not to me. They’d save that kind of talk for when they were locked in with my dad in his office, along with his box of Cuban cigars and expensive whiskey.
This man is refreshing.
“I hope you at least know their names,” I get out through my laughter, and he grins.
“Most of the time.”
Shaking my head, still smiling, I step back from him and hold out my free hand. “Franny.”