Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I’m quite pleased with my own dress too. It’s emerald green, with a halter-style bodice that covers my boobs nicely and a pleated skirt that swirls around my ankles. Picked for me courtesy of Joy, who’s looking gorgeous herself in a white minidress and impossibly high stilettos. Isaiah is her plus-one, but from the way they’ve been bickering since they got here, I have a feeling this latest reconciliation won’t stick.
Mom’s gaze sweeps around the room, resting on the lively band, before she turns back and grudgingly admits, “This is lovely.”
“Isn’t it?” Aunt Jacqueline says. “Almost makes me wish we held on to this place.”
Mom is quick with a reprimand. “Don’t you say that, Jacqueline. We had to sell.”
Uncle Will chimes in agreement. “It was time to say goodbye. Remember Mom and Dad with this place? It was their entire life. They didn’t have any time for themselves.”
“The world revolved around the Beacon,” Uncle Max concurs.
“I know,” my aunt says sullenly. “I guess I’m just sad to see it go.”
Mackenzie returns to give us a private tour. Just the family, and everyone is suitably impressed by what she’s done with the hotel. The tour ends on the top floor, where Mac strides down the carpeted hallway looking like a supermodel in her black satin gown and silver heels. She leads us to a pair of double doors at the very end of the hall.
“The presidential suite,” she says. Eyes twinkling, she steps aside to show us the plaque on the wall.
THE TANNER SUITE.
Grandma looks like she might cry. “Oh, Mackenzie, dear. You didn’t have to do that.”
“No, I did.” Mac’s expression becomes serious, her voice thick with emotion. “If it wasn’t for you, the Beacon wouldn’t have stood on this boardwalk for fifty years. It’s your legacy, Lydia.”
The suite is as posh as you would expect. Even has a grand piano. Afterward, we return to the ballroom, and I’m surprised to witness some genuine nostalgia swimming in Mom’s eyes.
“Aww, you’re sad to see it go too,” I accuse, my smile telling her I’m teasing. “After all the grumbling about how you didn’t want it …”
“Oh stop,” she says, patting me good-naturedly. She looks around the ballroom that’s slowly filling up. The band is now playing a jazzy rendition of a Taylor Swift song, which is sort of cool. “Where is your boyfriend tonight?”
“Um …” I pull my phone out of my clutch and check the screen. Tate was supposed to let me know when he was coming inside. Last time we texted, he was in the parking lot waiting for his parents. “Oh, perfect. His parents just got here. They’re walking in now.”
A server appears brandishing an array of champagne flutes, and Mom plucks two of them off the tray. With a broad smile, she hands me one.
I eye her in amusement.
“What?” she says. “We’re celebrating. Let’s make a toast.” She raises the delicate flute. “To our family.”
“To our family.” We tap our glasses. I don’t know why her spirits are suddenly so high, but hey, I’ll take it.
We weave our way through the ballroom, stopping to say hello to several people Mom knows. Then I turn my head and see Tate entering.
My throat instantly turns into an arid wasteland. I thought Tate in a suit was nice. Tate in a tux? It’s a sight to behold. Although of course, Tate in nothing at all would be my ultimate preference. Any time we’re naked together, I forget my own name. And it’s not just the sex that turns my mind to mush. It’s everything. His laughter. The way his blue eyes become so animated when he talks about something he’s passionate about. How he’s far more sensitive than he lets on. He tries to hide that under the guise of surfer-boy man-whore, but he’s not fooling me. Not anymore.
I’m still floored by what happened last week. Tate shedding real tears when I spoke of my fragile relationship with my father. I plan on sticking to my end of the deal—I’m going to talk to both my parents about our relationships. But I think I’m adding Tate to that list, because it’s getting harder and harder to deny my feelings for him.
I tried not to get attached and I failed.
My heart is officially engaged.
It was supposed to be a summer fling, but I don’t want it to end. I don’t think he wants it to end either. I wish he’d be the one to bring it up, to suggest we continue seeing other, but so far he hasn’t. A part of me wonders if he’s waiting for me to take the lead. I was the one who wanted the fling. I insisted I didn’t want a relationship to come of it. And Tate’s the kind of guy who isn’t going to push the issue. If I want more, I need to ask for it. Vocalize my needs and all that fun stuff.