Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“I don’t have company.”
Reaching the end of the bed, she stops and looks back. “Like ever?”
“Never.”
The smirk defining her earlier expression fades into sincerity. “Neither do I.”
Although she seems to be satisfied with the tidbit of information, I can’t help but wonder if she’ll be upset once she sees that tree up close. She moves in, and I follow, keeping some distance in case . . . I don’t know what in case of. I just give her some space.
She bends down and taps one earring and then the other before running her finger along the strand of gemstones. Looking back over her shoulder, she’s still smiling, and it’s grown. That’s a good sign. “You still have the tree.”
“It never came down. Though I must admit, I reworked the electrical system two years ago.”
Turning around, she comes to me, taking the shoelace from my fingers and slipping it under her hair. “I missed those earrings. They’re quirky.”
“They’re yours. If you want them.”
“I think they look better on the tree.” Gathering the laces together, she ties a bow in her hair, leaving it to hang down behind her back. “I honestly forgot about the diamonds.” She laughs. “My parents gave me the same necklace two years in a row. Guess they forgot to tell their shopper to update the list.”
I’m not surprised her parents sent a stranger to shop for her Christmas gift. It’s the “diamonds” that stand out. “When you say diamonds, you just mean because they look like it, right?”
“No.” With a heartier laugh, she touches my cheek. “That’s not what I mean.” She peeks back once more at the necklace draped around the top of the plastic tree, and then says, “That necklace is worth a good amount of money. It’s real, alright.”
Not sure why my stomach drops from the thought. Maybe because there were nights I couldn’t afford more than a cup of soup or that damn pasta with no butter or sauce. To learn that I could have bought a car for what that necklace is worth makes me kind of sick. Not that I need a car in New York, but damn. “It never crossed my mind.” I look at it shimmering against the little lights, feeling a bit stupid. “I guess I should have known.”
Taking my hand between hers, she draws on my palm with her fingertip. “Would you still have it if you had known?”
“Not if I were smart.” I crack a smile and then nod when she looks up. “Probably. I mean, I needed something to make my tree sparkle. And since you weren’t here . . .”
“I wish I had been.” Lowering my hand, I sit on the edge of the mattress, still holding it. “You don’t know how much I’ve wished things could have been different.”
Standing there, I’m tempted to pull my hand away, get defensive, and scrape my fingers through my hair. I don’t. I have to face the pain, especially if she’s willing to address it. “You didn’t need to make wishes, Sosie. I was there, begging you like an idiot in front of your house and neighbors to come out, to fight for me. I would have burned the world down protecting you from your parents. I wasn’t given the chance.”
“Me either, Keats.” She stands in front of me, staring up like I’m the judge and jury. “You must believe me. Our night together was everything to me.”
I can’t hold on or back any longer. I walk backward in this bedroom that has more space than I’ll ever need for just me. “I was never enough my whole life, but for one night, I felt like somebody because I was with Sosie Stansbury. Not because I gave a fuck about your last name or gave a shit about Manhattan society. I didn’t even know that was a thing until I worked catering.”
She stands next to the bed, barefoot and in a pretty dress that shines when it catches the light, staring at me like she knew this was always going to happen. “I don’t want to fight with you, Keats.”
“I don’t want to fight with you either, but I need to know why you didn’t fight for me.”
I tug at my hair, trying so hard not to attack her for the pain I’ve lived with for so long. Too long. But I can’t. “This has been years in the making. It’s now or never.”
“We could say the same for us.” Her voice is a mere whisp of its normal volume, but the words hit hard. “Are we willing to take that risk?”
It is a risk. I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t want to feel so empty inside anymore, either. “I guess I’ve kept this bottled up for too long to shove it back down and cork the top again.”