Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“His hold over you is that strong?”
It kills her, but she nods. “If he weren’t taken, maybe you wouldn’t be the only one shacked up with a hot hunk of a man you barely know.”
I try to think of something to say, either witty or helpful, but I’m genuinely stumped. Zoya lives life in the fast lane, but I knew it would eventually slow for the right person. I just never fathomed that that person would be already taken.
After squeezing her hand, soundlessly promising I will always be there for her, I ask, “Do you want to go back to the chocolates now?”
She smiles, grateful for the diversion, before replying, “In a minute.”
I eye her curiously, shocked she’s not jumping at the opportunity to steer the attention away from her. She loves demanding the focus of a room, but only when that room is full of men.
“With everything going on”—she wiggles her hand at the lower half of my body so I can’t miss what she means—“I completely forgot why I left you in the hands of a genius who clearly knows what he’s doing.” She gets off track remarkably quick for someone with a GPA as high as mine. “Was that a new record? Surely it was a new record. I had to go up and down ninety floors, but you were done by the time I got back.”
She laughs when I whisper, “I wasn’t in the right head space to set my stopwatch… but yeah, I think it was.” For the first time in over a decade, I remember my ability to have fun didn’t end when my baby sister died. “His skills are mind-blowing. They kind of make me…”
“Jealous?” Zoya answers when words elude me.
“I was going to say horny, but yeah, jealous could be used too.”
She laughs again, and it is infectious. “That might have more to do with the chocolates you gorged while studying, but let’s focus on one matter at a time.” With a megawatt smile, she tosses her phone into my lap. “I cleaned the album up for you. You should be able to go back at least three days and be safe of any vulgarities.”
“Only three days?” I jest while logging into her phone and opening her photo album.
Because I click on the first photo displayed, the events of last night play in reverse. They start from me tossing the bouquet—and purposely aiming it at an ashen-faced Zoya—to my best friend holding the dress Maksim pointed out this morning against herself and snapping a hundred selfies.
“What?” Zoya says with a laugh when my flicks make her move like a cartoon. “That dress was gorgeous. Even I was wondering what it would be like to get married in it.” She nudges me with her elbow before she switches the photo album for videos. “This one is my favorite,” she says, stopping on a video that registers as familiar even with my memories clouded.
“I remember that,” I murmur more to myself than Zoya when it commences playing.
She peers down at the footage that’s bordered by the door and doorframe she must have shoved her phone between to capture the private moment between a groom and his bride-to-be, but remains quiet, leaving the floor to me.
“All day today, I’ve been seeing images of Maksim kneeling in front of me and peering up. I thought maybe he was proposing.” I trace the garter Maksim is placing high on my thigh before whispering, “The way he was looking at me should have sobered me up, but it made me worse. I was intoxicated…”
“By him,” Zoya and I say at the same time.
When I snap my eyes to her, she smiles. “You said the same thing last night, and in an instant, everything made sense. Drugs weren’t speaking on your behalf. It was that big fat heart you tried to lock away when your mother died.” Wetness pools in her eyes, making me panicked. “You told him everything, Kita. About your sister and your mom and how their deaths drove your dad insane.” She tries to bring out some playfulness to ensure our tears remain at bay. “Your hate of pistachio nuts and anything associated with them.” There’s no jealousy in her tone when she admits, “You even told him things I didn’t know.” There’s nothing but love and admiration. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You were so free, and since he gave you that, I stepped back and let you do what you wanted to do. Will you hate me for it in the future? Maybe. But for now, I get to watch you live for you instead of everyone else.”
“It’s my job,” I try to defend, loathing that I’ve done such a terrible job of making out that I’m okay when I’m barely surviving. “I’m meant to help people.”