Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Would you like to dance?” Charlotte asks, pressing closer. “The string quartet is playing our song.”
We don’t have a song. We don’t have anything.
I would tell her that, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Salem and Aries long enough to correct her. Can’t focus on anything except the way Salem’s smile reaches her eyes. Is this the first time I’ve seen her smile tonight? Truly smile?
Because of him.
My best friend.
The bourbon churns in my stomach as Aries leans down to whisper something in Salem’s ear. She laughs again, and dark, angry jealousy unfurls in my chest.
Mine.
The word echoes in my head like a war drum.
Even if it’s fake.
Even if it’s pretend.
She’s mine.
“Your mother mentioned wedding venues,” Charlotte drones on, but her words blur into white noise. All I can focus on is Salem’s hand sliding from Aries’s shoulder to his chest as he guides her through another turn.
When did she get comfortable touching people?
She’s supposed to count first. Prepare herself. Take three steadying breaths.
Apparently, not anymore. Since there she is, moving like water through Aries’s arms, while I’m drowning in bourbon and jealousy beside Hartford’s most eligible socialite.
“The Henderson estate has lovely gardens,” Charlotte continues, her fingers trailing down my arm. “Perfect for a spring ceremony, don’t you think?”
Salem tips her head back. Her throat is exposed, perfect and pale against burgundy silk. Aries’s hand slides lower on her back—still proper, still society-approved, but too fucking intimate.
“Lee?” Charlotte tugs my sleeve. “You’re being terribly rude.”
Good. Maybe if I’m rude enough, she’ll take the hint and fucking disappear. Let me watch this nightmare unfold without her running commentary about fucking garden ceremonies. She’s out of her mind if she thinks I would truly go through with marrying her. So is my mother.
Aries spins Salem again, and when she returns to him this time, their bodies align perfectly. No careful distance. No measured breaths. No counting tiles or steps or moments before contact.
She trusts him.
The realization burns a path of fire down my throat that’s far worse than any glass of bourbon.
“They do make a striking couple,” Charlotte muses, following my gaze. “Your friend Aries comes from good stock. Old money, like us. And the Masters girl … well, she seems more comfortable with him, doesn’t she? More natural?”
The crystal glass in my hand cracks. Charlotte jumps back as bourbon spills over my fingers, but I barely notice. Salem’s laughing again, her silk-covered hand pressed to Aries’s chest as he whispers something else in her ear.
My best friend.
My fake girlfriend.
My world shatters just like the crystal in my grip.
“Lee, darling, you’re bleeding.”
Am I? I look down at my hand, at the small cuts made from the broken glass. At the bourbon mixing with blood. At the way my fingers shake with something darker than drink.
On the dance floor, Aries pulls Salem closer. She doesn’t resist. The pressure in my chest builds, and I feel like I’m losing her, but how can I lose something that I never even had?
“Should I call someone?” Charlotte asks, her voice pitched with concern. “The bleeding—”
“Shut up.” The words come out razor-sharp. “Just … shut the fuck up about gardens and ceremonies and bleeding and—”
The world around me comes to a screeching halt.
Salem’s eyes have found mine across the room. Even through the bourbon haze, I can tell the moment she sees me, really sees me, and all the fucked-up, broken pieces of my soul. Her beautiful smile falters, and her hand tightens into a fist against Aries’s chest.
Mine.
The word echoes in my head.
Mine.
Even if it’s fake.
Mine.
Even if she’s better off with him.
“Lee?” Charlotte’s voice seems very far away. “Your mother won’t like—”
The mask I wear slips off my face.
“Excuse me,” I growl, shoving the broken glass at Charlotte.
She sputters something about manners and mothers and proper behavior, but I’m already moving. Blood drips from my palm, staining my white cuff crimson. Good. Let it stain. Let everything perfect about this night bleed out like the lies we’ve been telling.
The crowd parts before me—maybe it’s my expression, maybe it’s the blood, or maybe it’s the Sterling name that makes them scatter. I don’t know; neither do I care. My focus narrows to Salem and Aries, still wrapped up in their little dance.
A dance that should be mine.
“Lee—”
Aries spots me first, his hands tightening on Salem’s waist. Protective. Like he has any right to protect her from me.
“Move.” The word comes out like gravel. Like bourbon and blood and broken glass.
Salem’s eyes widen as she takes in my appearance. “You’re hurt—”
“Private room.” I reach for her with my good hand. “Now.”
“We were in the middle of a dance,” Aries starts, but something in my expression makes him step back.
“Now.” It’s not a request this time. I wrap my fingers around Salem’s silk-covered wrist, careful even in my rage not to disturb her gloves. “Both of you.”