Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“You as well.” He dips his chin and walks out.
Closing the door, I drag in a breath before I turn back around to face Matthew, who is now standing with his hip pressed into the edge of the table and his arms crossed over his chest. I’d like to claim that I don’t still think he’s good-looking, but with dark hair, strong, elegant features, and an ever-present tan thanks to his Italian heritage, there is no denying that he is a very attractive man.
“How do you feel?” he asks softly.
“All right.” I wrap my arms around my middle as he holds my gaze from across the room. “You?”
“Strange.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t think it’s hit me yet that you’re not my wife anymore.”
The possessiveness of the word “wife” grates against my skin. For years, I felt like I was nothing more than a pretty accessory he’d flaunt when the mood struck, then tuck away when he was done showing me off. My value in his life became limited to fancy dinners and rubbing elbows with those he deemed important to his goals. And for a while, I lived off those moments, hoping they’d be enough to get me through, but they never were. “I guess signing those papers didn’t change the fact that I’m still in love with you.”
“Matthew—” I dig my nails into my palm, hoping that he doesn’t do what he’s done dozens of times since I told him that I was leaving him and attempt to talk me into giving him another chance.
“I know I might not have shown it like I was supposed to,” he interrupts, holding up his hands. “But I do love you, which is why I just gave you what you wanted.” Pushing away from the table, he starts walking toward me. “If you need anything, you know how to get a hold of me.”
Nodding, I hold my breath when he stops in front of me and leans forward to brush his lips across my cheek.
“See you tomorrow evening.”
I don’t reply. The reminder that our connection will never fully be severed washes away any of my earlier relief. He and I will always be in each other’s lives in one way or another. Our families are linked through business and friendships that were established long before either of us were born.
When I hear the door close behind me, I walk over to flip the lock in place, then head across my studio to PJ, who is whining, trying to get my attention. Opening his kennel, I pull him out, and he instantly nuzzles into my neck, like he senses that I’m upset and is trying to comfort me.
I never planned on having an animal of any kind, but two years ago, I walked into a pet shop with my best friend Molly, who was picking up food for her dog, and I saw PJ in a pen in the middle of the store. The moment I laid eyes on him, I couldn’t help but ask if I could hold him, and it wasn’t long after that I was leaving the store with a puppy I had no clue how to take care of.
Matthew instantly hated him, but I was in love, so I didn’t care in the slightest how he felt. Those first couple of months were a learning experience for PJ and me, since he was still very much a baby at that time, but we figured things out, and he’s been my companion and furry best friend ever since. After giving him some love and assuring him that I’m okay, I give him one of his favorite treats that he carries across the apartment to his bed.
Then, with my mind still itching from signing the divorce papers and my interaction with Matthew, I grab a blank canvas from a stack propped up against the wall and let go of my emotions with heavy strokes of my brush and darker colors than I normally use. And even though the painting isn’t one that anyone else will ever see, that night when I finish, I think it might be my favorite creation yet.
CHAPTER 2
Francisca
“Wow.” My Uber driver Amiee, who is probably in her sixties, whistles when my parents' home comes into view at the end of their long, tree-lined driveway. “Who lives here?”
“I’m not sure. I was just told to meet my friend at this address.” It’s a lie I’ve told often, so it falls easily off my tongue. My father is either loved or hated in Nashville, and there is no in-between, but that’s the way it goes when you’re dealing with politics. But the awe in my voice isn’t quite fake. Even growing up in the mansion we’re driving toward, I know it’s impressive. With two stories made of towering bricks, six lit-up pillars, and wide steps that cascade down the front to the edge of the circular driveway, it looks like something royalty in Europe would live in.