Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Even if that’s not really true. I mean, I know what Claire meant. Carter’s . . . Carter. And I’m . . . me. We’re not exactly a match made in heaven.”
“You shut your mouth up. I may not be a walking lie detector, given the current situation, but I can see how that boy looks at you. Nobody needs to understand your love but you two.”
I choke out a bitter laugh. “Love? I don’t think so. Carter would never fall in love with me. And despite being married to him, I don’t think a man who’d go to these lengths for a business deal is right for me, either. Money’s never been important to me like that. We don’t make sense.”
“Never say never,” she replies.
The doorbell rings, and Elena gets up. “I’ve got it, Stanley!” she shouts. Quieter, she tells me, “He’s around here somewhere, probably knows everything that’s happened. If I’m nosy, that old fella is Pinocchio.”
She disappears, then reappears a moment later with Zack in tow. “See, just like I told you, she’s fine. Sipping on some truth serum tea.” She winks at me, and I realize that her offer of tea wasn’t entirely friendly, after all. She had ulterior motives too.
Sitting down beside me, Zack asks, “What happened?”
“Claire saw you and me and thought . . .” A shiver of ick makes my whole body wiggle in revulsion. "We got that straightened out, but I couldn’t do it anymore.” I look up, hoping he’ll understand. “I told Elena the truth.”
“Damn, Moony,” he whispers. “You really know how to fuck shit up, don’t you? What about Carter?”
My eyes fall again as I shrug. “He left.”
“He. Left.” He’s saying the same thing I did, but it sounds quite different. I’m resolved, but Zack’s livid and trying to hide it. I know him well enough to recognize it.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to assuage his anger. “It doesn’t matter. Can we go home? I want to go home.”
I let Zack and Elena walk me to the door, feeling like a zombie. “Should I have kept my mouth shut?” I wonder aloud, not sure who I’m asking.
“No, dear,” Elena answers as she puts an arm around my shoulders. “You did what your heart told you to do, and listening to that beating muscle of self-direction is always the right thing.” She pats her chest, right over her heart, and I wonder what it’s telling her now. This old woman’s damn near Yoda with her levels of wisdom.
But truthfully, she’s probably glad to be rid of us. Someone who lies to your face isn’t someone you want managing your money. And someone who wants you to lie will lie to you. I should’ve realized that about Carter sooner. Myself too, because I was too willing to go along with it. And for what?
Seeing Thomas’s collection feels tainted now by my own deception. I didn’t deserve to see it.
“Thanks for taking care of her, Mrs. Cartwright,” Zack tells Elena at the front door.
I take one last look at the Eakin piece in the foyer, recalling the joy I felt seeing it the first time. How can I have disrespected such artwork, created with so much heart and imbued with so much meaning the way I did?
“I’m sorry,” I say one more time. This time, it’s to Thomas.
I’m quiet in the car after telling Zack that I don’t want to talk about it. He got the gist of it, anyway. I blew up Carter’s chance at the Cartwright portfolio. Thankfully, he respects my wish and says nothing until we get to my apartment. “Moony?” he says quietly. “I just want you to know, I’m sorry for getting you mixed up in this, and I love you. No matter what.”
I nod and give him a small smile. “Thanks.”
Walking into my apartment feels strange. I haven’t been here in a while, and it seems empty, even with Zack here with me.
“Go put on comfy clothes or take a bath, maybe?” he offers, trying to comfort me, but there’s nothing he can do to fix this, and he’s not the best at feely stuff, anyway. Of course, neither am I.
“A bath sounds nice,” I tell him, knowing I don’t have the energy to do any such thing. But I go into the bathroom and plug the drain, turning the water on high. The temperature doesn’t matter because I’m not getting in. I just need the noise to cover up what’s probably going to be an ugly cry.
Instead, I sit on the toilet lid, hugging my knees to my chest and closing my eyes. But the tears don’t come. I just feel hollowed out, a shell of myself that doesn’t even have the energy to let go of the pain inside me.
At some point, there’s a knock on the door. “I’m okay, Zack. I’m gonna go to bed after this. You can leave, but uh, thanks for coming to get me.”