Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 84026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Shit, Karys,” he said quietly. “God, I’m sorry. Not that you didn’t get married, I won’t lie and say I’m not glad about that. But I’m sorry you were hurt.”
I let that settle for a moment. I was glad for his apology I supposed, but it didn’t feel like enough. I bit at my lip. It wasn’t about me however. I had to learn how to rise above my own selfish hurts, and put aside the lingering pain and resentment. The questions that would provide no answers lacking in additional pain. Zakai and I were over, but I must now ascertain whether he could be a decent father. Or even want to be.
“I never heard a word about you calling the wedding off. I assumed it went forward,” he said quietly.
“Well. The truth is, his mother, Minnie, threatened to sue me for the cost of the wedding. I didn’t know if she was bluffing or not, but I . . . felt that I owed Dawson something.” The guilt and shame I still felt for what I’d done to Dawson, even unbeknownst to him, was something I had to live with. But it didn’t mean I didn’t internally cringe each time I considered the immorality of my actions. “She told her friends Dawson and I hadn’t been able to wait and like two impulsive lovebirds, had run off and eloped instead. A year later, she informed her friends I’d cheated on him like the trashy whore she suspected—rightly as you and I know—I was, and he’d promptly divorced me. Foreign girls, you know how they are.”
He had turned to watch me as I spoke and now his expression wrinkled into confusion. “There’s a lot there,” he noted. “But first of all, there’s nothing trashy about you. And second . . . foreign? She really said that?”
I laughed softly. “She did. Minnie had no idea where I was from. Just that I was ‘other’ and not fit for her son. Turns out I proved her right though so I suppose she feels vindicated.”
Zakai took in a big breath and let it out slowly. A twinge of grief made my muscles feel tight. This feeling . . . sitting here talking to Zakai, even mustering a dash of humor, was both distantly familiar and heartbreakingly strange. It made me want to smile and weep. And mostly, it made me yearn for a simpler time that could never be recaptured. I’d created an entire world of magic to avoid this agonizing reality. How in the world would I figure out how to merge the two?
But maybe something could be built from the rubble? Something workable? Something calm? The problem was, Zakai and I had never been calm. Our love had always reflected the shifting sand: deep and turbulent even under the calmest skies.
“So you didn’t get married,” Zakai said, bringing me out of my reverie. “You started writing instead. And you created a blockbuster.”
I made a small sound in my throat. “I don’t know that I’d categorize the series as a blockbuster, but . . . it did surpass my expectations.”
I felt his gaze on me but didn’t turn his way. “You’re humble, Karys. Your stories change people. I’ve read your reviews.”
I felt a warm flush of pleasure at having impressed him, but it made me feel shy too. And, to my chagrin, it made me realize how much this man’s opinion affected me. Still. Possibly always. And that was unfortunate because if I was going to preserve some inner peace, I had to temper my naturally stormy emotions where Zakai was concerned. “I have plenty of terrible reviews too,” I murmured.
Zakai leaned in close. “Fools,” he whispered, a teasing note in his voice. I laughed softly, my skin flushing. For the breath of a moment . . . I’d returned to Sundara, the place where Zakai had whispered in just such a way, distracting, as a dozen eyes looked upon us and he moved above me. I gave myself a very small shake, shrugging the memory away as Zakai leaned back and made a chuffing sound. He nodded to the painting of the first U.S. President and his crew, a mind-boggling masterpiece of immense size, a piece of art that depicted George Washington crossing the Delaware on Christmas night, 1776. “Do you know anything about that painting?”
“Only what I’ve read on the placard.”
He gave a short nod. “George Washington said later that as they crossed the river, the fog was so thick, only God could have steered their boat through the middle. They traveled by faith alone.”
I tilted my head, looking at him with interest. “Do you . . . have faith?”
He gave me a bashful smile. “I work to hold on to it but, yes. It’s brought me peace.”
Peace.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, regarding your bad reviews, I’m sure someone thinks George’s coat isn’t the right shade of blue, or that the expression on his crew mate’s face is overly dramatic, even for someone headed into a winter war completely blind.” I laughed and he smiled, but it quickly turned serious. “You give people hope. Be proud of that.”