Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
If Jason notices my inability to choose the right eating utensil for each course, he doesn’t mention it. His smile hasn’t left his face since we climbed off the bed a couple of hours ago.
“So what did you think of your meal?” he asks, sitting back in his chair and lacing his fingers against his stomach.
He’s regal and debonaire in his suit, easily the most handsome man in the room. Every female in the building, and some males, took notice as soon as we entered. I doubt it takes three people to service one table, but that’s been our experience this evening.
“This was incredible, actually,” I say, surveying the remnants of my dinner left on my plate. “I’ve never had Wagyu beef before, but I’m a convert. Total fan.”
This pleases him.
“How was yours?” I ask.
“I preferred my appetizer over my main course. Now I’m looking forward to dessert.”
The heat in his eyes makes it clear what’s for dessert. Me.
“I believe you had two appetizers before we got here,” I say, grinning. “Aren’t you full yet?”
He smirks. “I have a feeling I’ll never be full of today’s particular menu.”
My cheeks flush, and I reach for my wine.
“Have I told you that dress looks stunning on you?” he asks.
“Only five times.” I laugh. “But you can tell me again. I don’t mind.”
“You are the most beautiful woman in this room, and it has nothing to do with your dress. It’s lovely, of course. But you are the star of this show.”
I shake my head adoringly at him. “I hope you like this dress. You bought it.”
He grins, sipping his drink.
The dress is beautiful with short sleeves and a modest back slit. The sheer mesh gathers to a V-back neckline, giving it a vintage vibe. Vertical seams streamline the crepe sheath. It’s classy but comfortable. But when Nadia insisted that I needed it, I disagreed—especially with the price tag. Nadia, however, takes her orders from the man with the credit card, and that’s not me.
I guess she was right, after all.
“We go home tomorrow, right?” I ask, a sense of dread filling me.
Jason’s eyes narrow. “Yes.”
I nod.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course.” I slide a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s just that this weekend has been … phenomenal, really. And I worry that returning to Nashville is opening the door for real life, I guess.”
“This is real life.”
I scrunch my nose. “But is it, though?”
He leans forward, folding his hands before him, but doesn’t say a word. There’s something about the look on his face that compels me to explain.
“You have made this weekend extraordinary in every way,” I say softly. “And not just the gifts, or the sex, or the attention you’ve given me. But I’ve just felt … alive, I guess. And I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
“Like what?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
I shrug. Like I’ve finally managed to adult without feeling like I’m on the verge of failing.
“I feel like I’m a whole person,” I guess. “Like I can breathe without feeling strangled. I took two baths today and didn’t feel guilty about it.” I laugh. “I don’t regret any decision I’ve ever made regarding Mimi. But I do wonder late at night sometimes what my life would be like if she was healthier or if my mom was still here to help me care for her.” I sigh, letting the thoughts go. “But it doesn’t do any good to wonder, does it?”
“Can I ask why you didn’t get Mimi into an assisted living of some sort?” He holds a palm up. “I’m not saying you should have. I’m not saying that at all. It’s just an interesting choice for a twenty-five-year-old woman.”
“I don’t know. It’s what I do, I guess. It’s what my family does. It’s how we’re built. You know, when my mom got sick, Mimi and I took care of her. We washed her. Dispensed her medicines. I made her food.” Tears fill my eyes. “The last coherent day she had, she asked me to make her hot mashed potatoes. They had to be hot. She kept saying that for some reason.”
The words catch in my throat. I look away from Jason as I battle back a wave of pain that I didn’t realize was sitting so close to the surface. It’s heartbreak and desolation all wrapped up in a big mess of misery.
It’s been seven years, but some days it feels like it was only yesterday.
My husband reaches over, places his hand on mine, and rubs his thumb against the back of my hand. The simple, sweet gesture causes a single tear to slide down my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swiping it away.
“Don’t be sorry, Chloe.”
The tenderness in his voice catches me off guard.
My heart strums as I absorb the kindness in his gaze, the warmth of his hand, and the peace found in his proximity.