Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
It was isolating, immensely lonely, to have no one who really knew me. Well, Clara did, but she was five years old and had only known me a few months.
“That sucks.” Nora frowned before covering her mouth with her hand. “I mean, it doesn’t suck that you’re going back to nursing school, that’s amazing. I already know you’ll be a wonderful nurse. I was hoping to steal you as a nanny.”
“Bitch, I was hoping to steal her!” Fiona cut in with faux aggression.
“Well, I can promise Michelin star meals,” Avery supplied. “Though not much else since my husband wouldn’t actually let you nanny.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s firmly in his ‘stay at home dad era.’ His words, not mine,” she added with a sly grin.
My body warmed under the attention of these women. So much so that for a moment, I was almost tempted to throw it all away. Literally discard the future I’d dreamed of—well, with some adjustments for reality—so I could nanny for these families. So I could be around people who made me feel accepted and worthy. Who showed me that mothers could be loving, happy.
But if I stayed, it wouldn’t be as one of them. I’d always be on the outside, looking in. And having to be near Beau?
No.
Not to mention I couldn’t be in Jupiter nannying and not see Clara every day. Not be her nanny.
“I would’ve loved to, if things were different,” I told Nora truthfully.
“I don’t want things to be different for you.” She smiled, reaching over to squeeze my hand in a casual display of affection. “I was being selfish. You definitely should be following your dreams.”
“What about a boyfriend?” Tiffany asked. It was the first time I’d met Tina’s wife. Tina I’d seen at the bakery, and although she was covered in tattoos and scowled at the coffee machine a lot, she was unflinchingly kind and funny with Clara.
Tiffany was her polar opposite, with her hair curled and teased within an inch of its life. She was wearing head-to-toe pink, her makeup flawless, looking like she was going to a beauty contest instead of a five-year-old's birthday party. I loved it. I wondered what it would be like to be so confident, to stand out.
She leaned forward. “You’ve got to have one. Look at you.” She waved her long, pink-tipped fingers at me.
I blushed when all the glamorous, gorgeous women did just that, eyeing with appraising but not judgmental gazes.
I thought about what they saw. Half-hearted curls tumbling down my back. Freckles, a too-small nose and a face that was too full, regardless of whether I lost weight or not. Lips that looked swollen or like I’d gotten lip filler. Hazel eyes. I never felt pretty, and no one had ever told me I was. I knew I wasn’t exactly ugly, but I was nothing spectacular.
“I don’t have one,” I said quietly, eyes darting over to Beau for a half second. “A boyfriend. I’m trying to extract myself from a … complicated relationship.”
A few of the women moved forward when I said this, as if they sensed there was more to the story.
Now why did I go and say that? I didn’t need to hint at any kind of chaos. Be boring. Polite. That should’ve been my goal.
“Complicated? What does that mean?” Fiona asked.
“Complicated means bad,” Tiffany muttered softly.
Pressure built in my chest. I should not have opened my mouth. These women did not need to be embroiled in my past. And I was far too embarrassed at what I’d let happen to say a thing about it. These were strong, confident women; no way I could make them understand how I’d been so weak and stupid.
“Do you need me to make some calls?” Not waiting for my response, Calliope reached into her purse for a phone. “Tell me his name and date of birth. I’ll have him wishing he was dead in two hours.”
Now Calliope was involved? She didn’t sound like she was joking. My cheeks flushed as my heart rate spiked with panic. Calliope was not someone to let things go, and I didn’t consider myself skilled enough at evasion or lying to extract myself from the conversation.
“It’s time for cake!” I practically yelled, standing up and tipping the rest of the champagne down my throat. I almost choked, coughing as I all but ran from the conversation.
Not subtle. Not elegant, and definitely not a way to shut Calliope down. But it was the best I could do at that moment.
I walked toward Beau, dodging children and the men chasing them. He was cleaning the grill while Kip animatedly spoke to him. Beau’s face was downturned, focused on the grill as he was likely in the middle of his worst nightmare—socializing. Beau was not a social creature. As had been established.