Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
She’s been making so much progress in therapy, and I don’t want to be a negative influence.
I also stopped trying to separate her from the pest that is Preston, because it’s extremely rare for her to be this relaxed around anyone but Dahlia.
I still walk up to him and hit him upside the head, though, and he nearly chokes on a bite of cucumber.
“The fuck was that for?” He tries to kick me, but I dodge it at the last second.
“Stop being a nuisance.” I grab him by the nape. “She spent the whole afternoon cooking, so the least you can do is wait until dinner is served.”
“Well, I was helping!” Preston objects.
“By being a pain in the ass?”
“Veee.” Preston shrugs me off and walks to her side. “Jude is being mean.”
She smiles, but it falters when her eyes meet mine, the blue deepening until it resembles an ocean before she looks away.
My fist clenches.
Ever since I fucked her on the hill last week, she’s been…guarded?
No, she’s always been guarded around me. But this is different, taking it a step further.
As if she’s hiding something.
Which is ridiculous. I like to think that I know Violet inside out, but she often proves that she runs deeper than I think.
“I helped, didn’t I?” Preston asks while removing invisible dust from the table. “All this food couldn’t have been made without my good vibes.”
“I’m the one who actually helped,” Kane interjects as he and Dahlia bring more dishes to the table.
“Fuck off. No one asked you.” He grins down at Violet. “Right, Vee? Without me, this dinner wouldn’t happen.”
“True,” she says. “You suggested that I should host.”
“I brought it up, too.” Dahlia wraps her arms around Violet. “I’m jealous someone other than me will get to taste your food.”
“Hmph. You’re not that special, Diana.” Pres flicks her on the forehead, and Kane twists his arm.
Preston yells and protests while Dahlia waggles her brows at him.
As the three of them bicker, Violet walks up to me with a smile.
She doesn’t have the glasses on, her face looking brighter, more glowy, and her eyes spark gently.
And today, she’s dressed in a soft-blue cardigan and a light blue knit skirt that stops just beneath her knees. I’ve noticed she’s more comfortable wearing skirts and dresses lately.
While jeans and oversized hoodies are still her go-to, she sometimes dresses like this, and I love the light in her eyes when she does.
The confidence.
The way she’s growing into herself after over a decade of believing she’s worthless.
Even her journals are now more positive, filled with notes from her sessions with her therapist that she ‘loves to death’ and ‘feels lucky to have.’
She also includes childhood memories that she reflects on differently, having stopped the blame shifting and now trying to heal through finding closure.
She’s been…a force of nature lately. The fucking sun I’m orbiting around whether I like it or not.
Violet stops in front of me, her hand extending toward me before she lets it fall back down. “Are you still mad about this dinner idea?”
“I’m not mad. But as you can see, it’s a shitshow.” I wrap an arm around her waist because, apparently, I have to touch her.
I can’t be near her without this overwhelming need to keep her close. Shield her.
Make sure no one messes with her.
Not even me.
And even that is…not plausible. Since when did I stop wanting to mess with her?
I have no clue about the reasons, and I’ve stopped trying to figure it out.
Lucia hates me because I’ve been overworking her ever since Violet was attacked in the parking lot. We have little to no evidence to go on, and the surveillance cameras didn’t provide us with any clues except that the assailant was on a motorcycle.
I’ve spent hours watching that footage—mainly because I couldn’t get Violet’s frightened expression out of my head, and I hated that I couldn’t be there for her.
For hours on end, I keep watching the way she was shaking while escaping between the cars or the frightened expression on her face when he pointed the gun at her.
She didn’t want to die.
For someone with a shit ton of suicidal ideations, she truly didn’t want to die from the moment she had a gun pointed at her head.
I don’t know who the fuck wants her dead, but they’ll pay for making her feel that way.
Even if it’s Julian or Regis.
Especially if it’s Regis—I’ve been itching to bring down that man all these years.
“I’ve always wanted to cook for this many people. It brings me joy.” Violet pauses. “I made you lasagna, too.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is it only for me, though?”
“Come on, don’t make that face. You look so handsome when you smile instead. Besides, this is so much fun.” Violet’s hand lands on my chest, and I can’t resist the hum that ripples through me.