Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Slowly, I turn to the chair. The book he was reading is still on the floor. I pick it up and read the spine. Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, one of my favorites. “Huh,” I say, eyebrows raising.
But then I get another whiff. It’s my ghost, all right, and this book reeks like him.
I suck it in, reveling in it for a moment, until it hits me.
And dread fills my spine with a cold horror as I look over my shoulder.
The library door is still open. The hall beyond is totally empty.
“It can’t fucking be,” I whisper and start sniffing like a freaking dog, snorting and snuffling over the chair, and God, yes, it’s definitely my ghost.
Definitely right where Cormac was sitting.
I feel sick.
My hands tremble as I put the book back on the shelf. I don’t know how this is happening.
It’s got to be a coincidence, but there’s only one way to be sure.
I’m going to have to get close enough to smell that psychopath again tomorrow before they leave.
Chapter 8
Bianca
Isuffer through a lunch with Finn at our house the following day. We sit out back on the porch, and even though it’s a beautiful afternoon, I feel like my eyeballs are slowly drying out and about to fall into my lap.
It’s not that Finn’s a bad guy. He’s actually funny and kind of charming. But I just can’t seem to click with him, no matter how hard I try.
“What do you think my dad and your brother are talking about?” Finn asks once we’re done eating. He gazes back at the house with a slight frown.
“Adriano’s probably negotiating how many times you can beat me before their alliance is null and void.”
He stares at me for a beat, and I smile sweetly at him. But instead of laughing at my dark sense of humor, he only shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about that with me.”
“No, I know, I was just—”
“I’m serious, Bianca. I want this—” He gestures between us. “To be as easy as possible.”
“Totally. I do too. I was only making a joke, that’s all.”
“Right.” He doesn’t smile, shifting slightly in his chair. “Got you. I guess I’m just trying to feel you out still.”
There’s a short awkward silence. Adriano’s always telling me to stop with the morbid jokes, and maybe he was right for once.
I decide to push past this. I give him a smile and lean closer. “How about we do a quick speed round of stuff we like? Let’s start with movies.”
“I’m into action and comedy mostly. You ever see John Wick?”
I shake my head. “I’m kind of a horror junkie, actually.”
“Huh, okay, I mean, horror’s alright. Not my thing really.” He tilts his head. “What about music? I’ve been into country lately. Kind of makes me want to get a big old truck.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I got obsessed with the band Yo La Tengo. They’re awesome.”
“Never heard of them.” His frown deepens. “Sports?”
I spread my hands. “Not my thing.”
“Cars?”
“I don’t really drive.”
His shoulders slump. “Do you like to cook?”
“I definitely like to eat.”
We lapse into silence. My stomach does a flip as he stares off into the distance. I must’ve said all the wrong things based on the way his entire demeanor just changed, like he’s finally realizing we have basically nothing in common. If he’s a cat, I’m a fucking cat-hating dog, or something like that.
“Partnerships don’t need movies and music and shit like that to work,” he says as if he’s trying to talk himself into it. “It’s not like we’re going to spend a lot of time together, right?”
I lean back and stare at him, my heart suddenly racing into my throat. What exactly does he imagine our marriage will be like? I can see him coming downstairs in the morning, barely murmuring a hello, floating around our shared home like a total stranger. We’d have the occasional brisk conversations, but otherwise live separate lives.
He’ll take lovers. Maybe he’ll be subtle about it, or maybe he won’t. I’ll be expected to suck it up and keep my mouth shut. And if one day I decide that a life of drudgery, of pretending I’m in a marriage when I’m really in a prison, isn’t something I actually want, and I decide to find a man of my own—
What’ll happen if he catches me? What’ll happen if there’s gossip?
It’ll be me who has to shut it all down.
That’s the way it goes in our families.
The men get their infidelities, and the wives are expected to deal with it.
Or maybe none of that is fair, and I’m just assuming the worst.
But that’s the problem with our situation. I have no idea what’s going to happen once we’re together. What I can say for sure is we have zero spark and nothing in common, and if this weren’t an arrangement, I’d never put myself in this position.