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)
My gaze flies to Grandma, flashing a hundred different questions at her. She says nothing to remedy my bewilderment. Does nothing to assuage my distress. Her shuttered expression is vexing and it’s all I can do not to growl at her.
“Okay, what is happening right now?” I finally shout, and this time we draw some attention. Several startled gazes. Curious eyes.
Mom takes another sip.
Gavin, who hasn’t uttered a single word yet, doesn’t meet my gaze. His jaw is stiff, a muscle twitching.
“Gavin?” The distrustful voice belongs to Tate’s mother. And it succeeds in getting a reaction from him. His blue eyes shift, locking on to his wife. I see nothing of note in his expression, but Gemma must, because her cheeks turn redder. Lips tightening.
“Her?” she demands in disbelief. “That’s who it was?”
Tate stares at his parents, his face darkening. “Seriously, what the hell is going on? What baby is she talking about?”
My stomach begins to churn. An eddy of disgust and shame. I’m looking at my mother and I realize she’s enjoying this. She stands there smirking, unruffled, sipping her drink. She doesn’t care to expound on this tale. She’s not purposely delaying the payoff to keep everyone on the edge of their seats. That wasn’t her intention. All she wanted, I realize, as she aims her satisfied smirk at a visibly sweating Gavin Bartlett—was that. She wanted to make Tate’s father squirm. Wanted to put him in this position of having to explain himself to his family.
Without addressing his son’s question, Gavin touches Gemma’s arm. “Why don’t we go speak privately, darlin’?”
My mother doesn’t like that one bit. Whatever her original plan, I see the moment she mentally adjusts it.
With a harsh laugh, she says, “What’s the matter, Gavin? You don’t want to take a trip down memory lane among friends? Why on earth not?” She pretends to think it over. She’s the star of this sick movie and she’s relishing every second. “Is it because you don’t want your son and your wife and the good people of Avalon Bay to know the kind of man you really are?”
Anger twists and cuts at my insides. “Stop it,” I snap. “That’s enough, Mom. Time to go.”
I plan on getting this whole story, damn right I do, but not now. Not here, in a ballroom full of people. I notice Mackenzie starting to make her way toward us, Cooper at her heels. But they stop when I give a slight shake of my head.
“No, we can’t have that, can we?” Mom doesn’t heed my warning. She’s laughing again. Cold and punishing. “You’re Mr. Congeniality of the Bay. Mr. Perfect who can do no wrong. Perfect Gavin who can have an affair, screw another woman behind his wife’s back, knock that woman up, and still smile to all those people who walk into his place of business and talk about how much he loves his boats and let me tell you about the time I sailed to Hawaii! Right, Gavin?” Scorn drips like tar from her every word. “Well, I’m sorry, you don’t get that luxury anymore. You don’t get to pretend anymore.”
“Victoria.” It’s Grandma again. She touches Mom’s elbow. “This is neither the time nor the place.”
“Why not?” Mom flashes a mocking look. “This is the last time I’ll ever be in this fucking town, so why not now?”
I flinch at the expletive. Mom is usually a lot classier than this. There’s nothing classy about her now. The contemptuous smile. Those gleaming eyes, aimed at Tate’s parents. It’s insidious. Everything about this is fucking insidious.
And Tate. God, I can’t even look at Tate. I see him in my periphery and I’m diligently trying not to let our eyes meet. I don’t want to know his expression. Nobody wants to see what their sort-of boyfriend’s face looks like after you both find out your parents had an affair. Allegedly. I’m still not certain what the whole story is here, but it’s evident they were involved in some way.
“Mr. Perfect has nothing to say?” Mom seems almost disappointed that Tate’s dad isn’t taking her bait.
The man hasn’t even acknowledged her since she dropped her bomb. And that’s a problem. Narcissists can’t handle being ignored. That’s usually when they go for the jugular. And Mom is no exception.
“Perfect Gavin Bartlett, who has his cake and eats it too. Who flashes a huge smile to the world and then sits down and offers to pay for the abortion.”
Someone needs to stop this. But nobody is. Grandma has gone deathly silent. Tate is motionless. Gavin just stands there taking it. And I’m too stunned, my heart pounding too fast. Too loud. I can barely hear my own thoughts, let alone string some together and verbalize them. I feel nauseous, bile burning like acid in my throat.