Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“He will.”
“What if it’s too late? What if he can’t trust me again—it’s not like it’s the first time I ran.” If only I’d trusted myself, listened to my heart and not my overcrowded head.
“Stop,” she says softly. “You were overwrought. You worked against your feelings instead of with them, that’s all.”
We’ve talked a lot about what passed between Mitch and her. And what came after. We’ve gone over the similarities in our experiences and how easily a betrayal, a loss of trust, leads to a cloud in judgment. It can make you feel like you’ll never trust again—yourself or anyone else.
There isn’t much we haven’t shared. I’ve told her about my parents, the roots of this erosion. And she’s confided how she wishes she could take back all that passed between her and Oliver.
“He’d be a fool not to listen.” Lucy is so kind. Beautiful, serene, wicked funny too. She has this openness about her. I’d be lucky to call her a friend. Or a sister?
I found her email address on her company website while I was hiding out in Dubai. I reached out, not quite sure what to expect and already regretting leaving the way I did. I don’t know what I was expecting. Certainly not understanding or friendship.
“Maybe you should come with me?”
“And play gooseberry?” she laughs. “No thanks.”
“That might be a little optimistic. He might throw me out.”
“Doubtful. It sounds like my brother is head over heels for you. And I think you’re just the person to keep him on his toes.”
“But what if—”
“Eve, love doesn’t just go when your physical presence removes itself. It’s just a hiccup, and hardly surprising, given your natures.”
“Meaning what?”
“That you’re both as stubborn as a box of rocks. Enough worrying. Tell me about your day. Mine was a nightmare of numbers and boring talk. Paint some color for me.”
“Oh, I’ve got color. Green for the bushland to get to some remote village. Blue for triage and surgery tents we erected. Then there was a lot of red and brown after that, but I’ll leave the sources to your imagination.”
Her nose scrunches. “No puppies?”
“I filled my quota of puppy cuddling. Then I neutered a half dozen village strays.”
“Did you think about anyone in particular while doing so?”
“Like Mitch?” I shake my head. “I don’t get how dog can be a human insult. I’ve met more dogs I like than humans.”
“You have a point, but I do think he should be neutered. As a preventative measure, if nothing else.”
Before I can answer, a commotion starts up outside. The roar of an engine, the barking of dogs. Raised voices?
“Hold that thought,” I say, pointing a thumb over my shoulder. “I need to see what’s going on outside.”
“What if it’s trouble—the rebels or whatever they call them?”
But rebels don’t have posh English accents.
Chapter 49
OLIVER
I press my hands to my hips and arch my back, which has more kinks than Fin, currently. With a murmur of thanks, I nod at Ronald, my driver. Not that he’s paying attention as he stares at his newly acquired Patek Philippe. But at least we’re here.
Unless I’m about to be sold to criminals.
I wonder if anyone would pay the ransom?
“Oliver?”
My head snaps right, and oh, what a sight. Eve stands in the doorway of a ramshackle hut, a million emotions flickering and fading across her face, none of them settling. She looks so lovely, her face dappled with freckles she didn’t have before, her hair more golden than red, even in the fading light.
“Oh, thank God.” I don’t recall moving. All I know is I’m peppering her forehead and her face with kisses, my hands sliding over her as though she might not be real. “Darling, I’ve missed you so much.”
“What are you doing here?” She begins to push at my chest as though just coming to her senses. A pity for her that I’m senseless to everything as I tighten my arms, not giving an inch.
“Everything okay over there?”
I turn my head to the deep voice and the pair of men looking toward us. They’re wearing the same khaki-colored outfit as Eve, and just as crumpled, though one man has the addition of a pistol holster. I tighten my arms, pulling her impossibly close, because fuck that and fuck you, Tucker the nonfucker. Eve is mine.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she begins. “This is Oliver. He’s . . .” Her eyes dart to me, uncertain. “A friend.”
My stomach pits. “Eve, I love you. And I swear to you, I’m not guilty of . . . well, not directly responsible for all of it.” So much for preparation of eloquent declarations.
“You’re guilty for crimes against fashion.” Her eyes flick down to my nipple-chafing T-shirt.
“A baby vomited on me.” Keeping one arm around her, I yank at the hem, which has a habit of creeping up. “This was all I had in my carry-on.” My talisman. “You bought it for me in the charity shop, remember?”