Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“You said Westley would follow through with his promise by Halloween, the day after tomorrow, our day. All I’m saying is, we’re holding him to that promise.”
A dramatic chord is struck on the harpsichord. My grip on the mug tightens. “And what happens if he fails to ‘follow through’, per se?”
“Don’t worry about that. If you trust Westley, then I trust him, too, and I choose to believe he will keep to his word. He hasn’t betrayed you before, has he?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“He hasn’t lied to you?”
“Not really.”
“Broken a promise?”
“Never.”
“Then I have faith everything will go exactly the way it’s supposed to go.” Byron sets down his mug at once, then takes hold of my free hand with both of his. “Even if I was angry earlier, even if I seemed short, it’s because I can’t stand the idea of someone putting you in harm’s way. I will defend you until the end, Griffin. For better or worse, sickness, health, I’m your man.”
I still don’t know what his dads are planning. I still don’t know what Byron isn’t telling me. It’s obvious his dads gave him some kind of grim reassurance that took away all his fears that I’m in any true danger. My fear is that, should things go sideways, my friend West will be the one in danger.
But maybe the better point is that it won’t matter in the end what his dads have planned. If West finds his Nina in time and gives back the part of my soul he took, we will all come out safely in the end.
“Thanks for being the most understanding fiancé in the whole damned world,” I murmur tiredly.
“Stay here tonight. With me. The big family dinner is here tomorrow evening anyway, and we’ll be pulled apart after it by our families before the big day. I need one last night alone with you, cradling you in my arms, protecting you the only way I know how.”
“I’ll stay on one condition: change this harpsichord music for something less on-the-nose.”
“What?” protests Byron with mock surprise. “Don’t you like it? It’s the perfect Halloween mood-setter!”
“I feel like I’m about to join Dracula in his coffin for a night of light BDSM and wine.”
Byron kisses me before I can complain any further. Soon, our mugs of hot chocolate grow cold, and the pair of us retire to his big, comfy bed where kisses turn into other things, all our clothes come off, and the long day comes to an end.
The next day is a sweet, sweet departure from the terrors of yesterday. He cuddles me as we wake up, the pair of us having slept in. He makes us breakfast. He tells me about a couple members of his extended family I haven’t met yet who will be coming tomorrow. I warn him about some of my friends from school who will be there tomorrow as well, especially an ex-girlfriend of mine from a time in my early teen years when I thought I was straight. We laugh together. We spend moments silently cuddling and worrying about nothing. Byron is gentle and loving every moment of the day, giving me all the reassurances my weary, torn soul needs.
I don’t shiver once. I don’t see scary-eyed ghosts in the corners of the room. Maybe this weird talisman has something to it.
Thanks, Mrs. Shaheen.
My mom and dad arrive first, extra early as usual and bearing additional casseroles and tasty desserts we have to find room for on the island counter and already-crowded dinner table. Then come Byron’s dads, who are in suspiciously good moods—even cold-eyed Mortimer. It isn’t much longer before we’re gathered at the table enjoying a meal together, which serves as our rehearsal dinner without literally anything that normal rehearsal dinners encompass.
Though at one point, Douglas takes a brief moment to offer a toast, sharing kind words about the long and happy futures he imagines for us both. “And should anything challenge your happy future,” he finishes, his mirthful tone for a moment turning serious, “you have three dedicated dads and a fierce and loving mother who will stop at nothing to fight for your happiness.”
Then glasses are clinked, and sips are taken.
And I hear every single word within that toast he didn’t dare say aloud.
I don’t need some sinister speech masked in sweet words to know exactly what Byron’s dads intend. I am certain now that they’ve planned something terrible for Westley if he doesn’t come through on Halloween.
I sure hope we never learn what that plan is.
“I already miss you,” says Byron an hour later.
He caught me washing dishes at the kitchen sink as our parents share stories around the couch with entirely too much wine in their glasses, now and then bursting into laughter.
“We could say fuck the traditions,” I suggest, “and just stay together tonight, all things considered.”