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)
“Language,” Katherine scolds, but her smile suggests she expected this. Wanted this. “Perhaps a short break? The lighting needs adjusting, anyway.”
Lee’s gone before she finishes speaking, making a beeline for the drink cart in the corner. I watch him pour a bourbon with practiced ease, his hands steady with this routine in a way they weren’t with me.
“He gets like this during family events sometimes,” Katherine says softly, for my ears only. “Ever since … well. Some memories are better left in the past, wouldn’t you agree? Of course, we had to include you in the photos going up on the Sterling Banking social media. For Emma’s engagement announcements. You’re clearly committed to one another.” I can’t quite grasp the meaning in her words, but before I can analyze it, the photographer’s hands are on me again, shifting me into a new position.
“We’ll get some of just the ladies while we wait,” he announces. “Salem, try to look more comfortable. Like you do this every day.”
But I don’t do this every day. Don’t handle strange hands arranging my body. Don’t watch Lee drink before noon. Don’t stand in rooms where nothing aligns while pretending everything’s fine.
Across the room, Lee downs his second glass, and I realize I’m not the only one counting anymore. Not the only one measuring spaces and moments and breaths.
But while I count to stay present, he counts to escape.
While I measure spaces to feel safe, he measures drinks to feel numb.
“Such progress you’ve made,” Katherine murmurs as the photographer adjusts his lights. “Almost passing for normal these days. Lee must be such a steadying influence. Of course with the party coming up, well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. But do let me know if we need to get Charlotte to fill in as Lee’s plus-one. She wouldn’t mind. I know how you feel about crowds.”
The irony of her words hits as I watch Lee pour his third drink. Or is it his fourth? I’ve lost count, and that terrifies me more than the photographer’s hands or Katherine’s sharp smile.
“Charlotte’s joining us for lunch after,” Katherine continues, smoothing her skirt. “She’s so looking forward to catching up with Lee. They were quite close before his … rebellious phase.”
Close. The word carries implications that make my silk gloves feel too tight. Through the lens of the camera, I watch Charlotte herself appear in the doorway, all perfect poise and societal grace. No gloves. No counting. No measured spaces between herself and others.
“Lee, darling!” Charlotte’s voice carries across the room like expensive perfume. “You’re not drinking alone, are you?”
He turns, glass in hand, and something shifts in his posture. Something I’ve never seen before—a kind of practiced performance that speaks of years of societal training.
“Never alone when you’re around, Char.” His words are flat, but his smile is picture-perfect.
Char. Fucking Char?
I feel Katherine watching me watch them. Feel her measuring my reaction as Charlotte glides across the room to join Lee at the drink cart. Feel the weight of her satisfaction when Lee pours Charlotte a drink without checking if the glass is clean first.
“It’s quite natural, you know,” Katherine says softly. “Childhood friends finding their way back to each other. Sometimes these little … experiments help us appreciate what’s truly suitable.”
Experiments. Like me. Like whatever this is between Lee and me. Like the way he counts tiles and measures spaces and tries to understand my world.
Charlotte laughs at something Lee says, the sound practiced and proper. She touches his arm without hesitation, without counting, without checking if he needs space first. They look right together. Normal.
“Salem?” The photographer’s voice breaks through my spiral. “You’re tense again. Perhaps we should—”
“Oh, let’s include Charlotte!” Katherine suggests with crafted spontaneity. “Lee, darling, bring her over. We should document all our close family friends.”
Close family friends.
Not experiments.
Not temporary arrangements.
Lee looks over, and for a moment, I see confusion flash across his face. Like he’s forgotten I’m here. Forgotten why he’s drinking. Forgotten everything except the familiar escape of bourbon and society masks.
The camera clicks.
Charlotte smiles.
Katherine watches.
The panic hits like a wave—sudden, overwhelming, drowning. I make it to the powder room off the main hall before my legs give out, silk gloves squeaking against the marble counter as I grip the edge.
Breathe. Count. Measure. Control.
But there’s nothing to count here. No ceiling tiles. No perfect patterns. Just expensive wallpaper with roses that blur as tears fill my eyes.
“Salem?” Lee’s voice filters through the door, rough with bourbon. “You okay?”
No. Nothing is okay. I want to scream. Not the way his words slur slightly. Not the way he’s forgotten he promised he would try for me. Not the way I can’t feel anything right now but this pain in my chest.
“I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter. “Just need a minute.”
“Let me—” He tries the handle, but I’ve already locked it. A thud suggests he’s leaning against the door. “Salem, please.”