Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Translation: Get off my case, Mom.
“Well, you’re settled in now.” She helps herself to more carrots. “You two should go out some time when you get back.”
Kill me now.
Unfortunately, in my attempt to look anywhere other than at August, I catch March’s eyes. His glint with quiet humor, fully aware of how awkward his mother is making things and even a bit sympathetic to my plight.
“Ma,” he says, grabbing her attention. “I’ve been meaning to ask. What the hell is up with that sweater you sent me?”
Margo’s expression becomes all innocence. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the knitted toy soldiers draped around the shoulders?”
May perks up. “You got one of those too? Mine has teddy bears!”
June and August join in. Apparently, they’ve all received “absolutely darling”—Margo’s words—sweaters.
She scowls at their outbreak of outrage. “Come on now, you all know perfectly well they’re for our holiday calendar photoshoot.”
“No!”
“No way!”
“Over my dead body, lady!”
“That can be arranged, March.” She cuts him a look.
August leans in, giving her what I’m going to assume is his version of puppy eyes. “Mom, we stopped looking cute a decade ago. Now it’s just creepy. Like those photos you see on true crime shows. Where the family ends up having a human meat farm in their basement.”
“Seriously,” June grumps.
Margo colors, then taps a manicured red nail on the table. “I don’t care. I want a family photo. You’re all getting older and these times are precious.”
May makes a face. Discreetly, of course.
“But why does it have to be a staged one?” March demands. “We look like total boobs. Just get us all together and do a candid.”
“Oh, yes, a candid,” Margo huffs. “You try and corral this family into getting close enough to take one.”
June toys with the stem of her glass. “Doesn’t matter. Either way, I’ll look like an angry chipmunk.”
“August is the worst,” May says. “His eyes are always closed.”
“That’s me trying to will away the pain of picture taking.”
Margo shakes her head. “I don’t know what you all are complaining about. I look terrible in every picture. But I still want them.”
Until now, I’d been quietly watching them, enjoying the show. But the way they all start to complain about bad photo angles has me speaking without thought. “Oh, come on. You all are ridiculously attractive.”
A pause thumps into the room, and they all stare at me with varying levels of amused surprise.
My fork stops midway to my mouth as I look around at them. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know because I won’t believe it.”
August frowns at me like he can’t tell if he’s been somehow insulted. That wasn’t my intention. If I’m honest, it kind of slipped out. But it is the total truth: they’re the most attractive family I’ve ever come across.
Margo purses her lips as if she’s trying to figure out how to answer that and still appear humble, which makes me want to laugh just a little.
March, however, has no such humbleness and grins wide. “Well, of course we know. We got mirrors and everything.”
“Yeah,” May adds with a snort, “and we all know who preens in front of them.”
“You?”
“Not as much as you.” She waves her empty fork in his direction. “I’m surprised you don’t put gilded frames around your mirrors and ask them the eternal question—”
“How to successfully toss my little sister out the window without actually hurting her?”
“Ha. No, but you’re hilarious.”
March winks at her, grinning and unrepentant.
“March won’t ask who’s the fairest of them all,” June deadpans. “He already thinks he is.”
He shrugs. “Facts don’t lie.”
“Taste is subjective, brother.”
Margo watches them much as I do, slightly smiling and enjoying it. Then she shakes her head. “June is right. Attractiveness is in the eye of the beholder.”
“All right, then,” March says, turning his gaze on me. A sinking feeling opens in the pit of my stomach. There’s a gleam in his eye that I don’t like. “Since our dear Penny is the one who said we were all so hot—”
“Attractive.” It comes out gravelly. As for hot? That would be my cheeks.
“Attractive,” he amends. “She can tell us who’s the most attractive of us all.”
August grips his glass with a muttered, “Jesus.”
It’s so soft, I almost miss it. As I’m right across from him, I can’t escape the look of annoyance on his face. To be sure, he’s been annoyed since I opened my mouth. And, honestly, I’d love to end this whole conversation right now. But there’s something about his attitude that irks. Suddenly, I feel buoyant, impish. Maybe this is how March feels when he stirs things up. If so, I can forgive him.
I take a long look around. “Oh, that’s easy.”
Despite themselves, everyone seems to lean in. Everyone but August, who doesn’t even meet my eye, his indifferent expression and languid body language suggesting he’s bored by the whole thing. Game on, Luck.