Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I don’t know how to feel about that.
I don’t know how to feel about anything.
I just know I’m hurt that he’s down there having a sweet evening with the kids, while I’m up here like Rapunzel in her tower because that big idiot-lunk can’t swallow his ego.
But yes, I get it.
I get wanting to flee and take the kids away from this mess.
He’s putting them first like any decent parent should.
Mom and Dad never would’ve left us in harm’s way, even if they weren’t exactly affectionate or attentive or—well, you get the point.
Ethan and I had to figure it out on our own.
Everything we had to learn about being a Blackthorn came from PopPop.
I’m no stranger to the limelight and cameras rudely flashing in my face. Or clickbaity people posting scandalous whispers about me online. It’s incredible how much having a fortune makes the world oh-so-interested in who you’re dating or just hooking up with.
Spoiler: the whispers are usually wrong.
Sometimes, you wish for the dating crap when the made-up alternatives turn fucking cruel.
One disgruntled personal chef my mother let go when I came home from college on Thanksgiving break turns into an exposé on how Margot Blackthorn is such a finicky eater. Why, she threw a fit until her parents canned a woman with Michelin star experience and five kids to feed.
And yes, I must be a spoiled bitch because I can fly private and work on my ‘tacky’ shoe designs at forty thousand feet.
Just another talentless rich girl who had the moon handed to her.
Just like her folks.
That one hurt the most, honestly.
When people compare me to Scott and Elvira Blackthorn, and not to Gramps. With Ethan, it’s different because he inherited the family empire.
Kane should also be used to the searing spotlight and people falling all over themselves to shred you just so they can walk away with a few pieces of your ego as souvenirs.
That’s what being famous is—forking over bloody scraps of yourself so the public can bite and tear and taste whatever they imagine.
Ideally, you choose what pieces they get in their hungry little teeth.
Kane didn’t want to give them us—however much ‘us’ there is—and at some level it makes sense.
He wanted to keep his time here private and special.
With the divorce and the whole leaving his company thing, that’s more complicated. People have been speculating, making him out to be some kind of rich supervillain. But that’s all surface stuff.
It doesn’t matter.
And in all my dealings with him, he’s never been the bad guy.
I look up at the stars again through the window, my chest tight.
My eyes burn, but I don’t let myself cry.
I’m still light on tears.
When Gramps died, I cried so much I felt sick for days. But I never let myself cry over men who aren’t family.
Not since Kelso.
Kane’s rich laughter floats up to my room.
He chuckles at something Sophie says, and the ache in my chest threatens to swallow me.
Deep down, I know he’s right.
We should’ve been more careful.
It was a blunder any way you slice it, getting involved with an older, divorced single dad papa bear.
A broken beast who’s plodding away from his past, ripping up everything in his path.
But I’ve gotten so attached to the kids.
And so addicted to our sunny, sexy mornings together.
Ugh.
I glance at my iPad on the desk.
Why mope when I could be channeling this pain?
Sophie still needs shoes.
The soft pink skin I laid over a template of her orthopedic shoes doesn’t seem half-bad now that I’m giving it a second look.
Candy cloud, I call it.
The airy textures highlight the natural bulkiness of her shoes rather than hiding it.
When you can’t change what’s etched in stone, sometimes the only thing you can do is own it.
That’s the idea here.
No shame.
I want her to own this fragile part of herself she’s spent years trying to hide.
Kids suck when they’re mean. There’s a special place in hell for bullies.
But she’s such a happy, shy girl, and I want her to shine without judgment. I want her to see what I do when I look at her, and what her dad must’ve always noticed since the day she was born.
Hopefully, this redesign will help.
A statement, not a megaphone.
With a little more tweaking, I can send the design off to a supplier who can make a custom model. Then if it looks good, I’ll ship the finished product to them at home.
My heart hurts again when I remember I’ll never get to see her reaction—if she loves them at all.
Once this is over, we’ll have gone our separate ways.
My phone buzzes loudly beside me.
Hattie.
She’s probably wondering why I haven’t been texting her constant updates.
“Okay,” she says the second I answer. “I know you’re busy canoodling, but I need to know the situation.”
“Canoodling? Who says that?” I laugh despite myself, putting my stylus down and leaning back in the chair.