Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Now he’s really laughing. “You think I made a copy for you to read?”
“Not for me. Just in general,” I lie.
Yeah, okay, I thought he would’ve made an extra one for me.
Farrow lifts his foot to the couch, balancing his arm on his bent knee. We’ve dried off from a night swim earlier, but he’s still in black bathing suit trunks, and my form-fitting green suit is a boxer-brief cut.
He smiles at me and says, “There’s only one. If you want to read it, you’re going to have to get it from Beckett.”
Janie bounds over to us in a peach tankini, wavy hair knotted in a high bun. “Are we talking about the letter?” she asks, overhearing the end of our conversation. She cups a steaming mug and gracefully plops down on the ottoman, ankles crossed. “Moffy, it was truly beautiful.”
I frown. “You’ve read it?”
“Oui,” she says like it’s nothing.
My desire to find this letter has now escalated to a million.
A buzzing phone slices into our conversation. Farrow finds his vibrating cell on the cushion. I catch the Caller ID on the illuminated screen: Oscar Oliveira.
Farrow clutches the phone without answering. For a long moment. Wavering on picking up the call.
Security is on a separate smaller yacht that cruises in line with ours. And not all of our bodyguards are there. Some stayed back on land in Mykonos. Others take care of our properties in Philly.
But all of SFO are on that yacht, and it’s one short boat ride on the rib to board it.
Farrow hasn’t gone over there once. It’s different now that he’s a concierge doctor and not at Philly General all day. He’s confronted face-to-face with his old life on security a hundred times more.
And he has no radio for that quick hotline into SFO, and he’ll tell you that he didn’t lose anything that really mattered because he has me.
But in reality, he’s lost that part of his life, and I’m not sure he’ll ever get it back.
It hurts thinking about it, and luckily, his ringing phone breaks apart my thoughts.
“You going to answer that?” I ask.
He keeps his forearm on his knee and flips his phone in his hand a few times. “He’s most likely just inviting me to security’s boat.” He makes a choice though and presses speaker. Answering the call.
Music blasts in the background. “Redford!” Oscar yells. “Get your ass over here! Bring the Boyfriend!”
The Boyfriend. I’ve heard Oscar call me that a billion times, and I’m not gonna lie, it still fucking gets to me. In a good way. I’m someone’s boyfriend.
Maybe, in time, that title can be something more. The ring box is in my yacht cabin, but I don’t want to propose on my birthday.
I’m still waiting for the moment.
“You’re on speaker, and I’m relaxing, Oliveira,” Farrow says. “You’re killing my mood.”
Oscar laughs. “Come on. Donnelly and Kitsuwon miss your face, and my little bro is acting like he lost his favorite Golden Retriever.”
“Eh, no,” Farrow says like that’s that.
Maybe he doesn’t want to confront what he lost by being on security’s boat. “You guys can come over here,” I tell Oscar. “Bring SFO.”
Farrow tilts his head at me, but a smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
“The parents awake?” Oscar asks. “Most of us have been drinking. We’re off-duty tonight, but five-sixths of us care about making bad impressions.”
“Who’s the one-sixth?” Jane asks curiously, knuckles to her chin as she leans closer to the cell.
“Donnelly,” Farrow tells her.
“They’re not on the main deck,” I tell Oscar. “They’re probably not even going to be out here for the rest of the night.”
“Good enough for all of us,” Oscar says. “See you in fifteen.”
I stand off the couch, swinging my right arm in another stretch.
Farrow tosses aside his phone and watches me.
My feet are close to the pool. “You know I’m better than you at back-flipping,” I banter.
He pops a bubble in his mouth. “Marginally.”
“Colossally,” I rebut.
He’s about to respond, but the sliding glass doors push open. My little brother storms barefoot onto the main deck in sweatpants and an old New Mutants tee.
I solidify.
Some of Xander’s favorite vacations are on the yacht. No pressure to leave the boat, no strangers hounding him, and for the most part, he’s been in good spirits.
The way he approaches me with a darkening scowl—I’m aware that something is vitally wrong.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Janie setting down her coffee and standing off the ottoman. Farrow also rises to his feet.
I turn towards my brother. “You okay, Summers?”
“You tell me,” Xander snaps loudly, his phone gripped in a fist, knuckles whitened.
The chatty girl squad in the hot tub suddenly falls silent. On another set of couches, Eliot, Luna, and Tom are smoking—and their heads turn. Charlie, Beckett, and Sullivan look up from their game of Catan at an outdoor table. And Ben Cobalt stops reading his book on nature conservatories, only two lounge chairs away.