Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Oh my God, I think I’m dying,” Abbie groans.
“How the hell did we get so drunk?” I’m blaming my lunchtime tasting session, which means this is all Jude’s fault.
“Copious amounts of cocktails. You needed it after an encounter with that prickly thing.”
“Katherine,” I gasp. “Shit, I forgot about her.”
“You see, there are some benefits to complete obliteration.”
I rub at my pounding head. “I’m not drinking again.”
“Me either. I want to dislike Jude Fuckboy Harrison, but it feels wrong, given we’d probably still be trying to remember where we live if it wasn’t for him.”
“He wants me to meet his brother.”
“Ohh, that sounds serious. Do fuckboys usually introduce their fuck buddies to their brothers?”
“Stop it.”
“I’ve got to go. I think I’m going to throw up, and Lloyd will never talk to me again if I don’t make it to a toilet this time.” The line goes dead, and I place my mobile down on the counter, wondering why the hell Nick’s called me. Is it just Nick being Nick, still hoping? Or has he found out I’m seeing someone? I could message and ask. But I really don’t want to.
So I go take a shower instead and get dressed in last night’s clothes, using my lip and cheek stick to try and make myself look less dead. I inspect myself in the mirror, roughing up my waves and blinking rapidly to try and moisten my dry eyes. Eye drops. I need eye drops. Would Jude have eye drops? I pout and open one of the cupboards under the sink, recoiling at the amount of man products in there.
Crouching, I scan the masses of shower gels, lotions, and potions, sending a mental thanks to the eye drop gods when I spot a bottle. I pluck it out, faltering when something catches my eye.
A box of pills. I reach for it and read the label. “Antidepressants?” I quickly put the box back, shut the door, and stand up straight, staring forward, my delicate head spinning. He suffers with depression? I’m a fuckup. Biting my lip, I come over so guilty, but also empathy steams forward. He lost both his parents so close together. It’s no wonder. Does he still take them? Need them?
I can’t ask. But . . .
Full of shame and unable to stop my curiosity, I crouch and open the cupboard again, checking inside the box. There are four strips of pills, and only two have been taken from one strip. I scan the label on the box that details Jude’s name, his address. The date. My gut twists, my worry and uncertainty unstoppable. He was prescribed these last month?
I jump when my phone dings, stuffing the strips in the box and putting them back, closing the cupboard.
Did you fall back into bed?
I quickly reply, before getting up close and personal with my reflection, putting in the eye drops and wiping away the trails down my cheeks. Then I take a deep breath and head downstairs.
In my cream slip evening dress.
I roll my eyes to myself as I follow the signs to the Piano Bar, nervous as shit, and enter the stark white space. Even the grand piano is a glossy white wood. Jude’s sitting on the far side of the bar in a huge midnight-blue velvet chair, laughing. I momentarily forget where I am and what I’m doing here, captured by the head-spinning magnificence of him. Right now, he doesn’t look like a man who suffers with anything except being irresistible. But flashes of his anger, the pills, and his apish reactions say otherwise. Beautiful. Complicated. A work of art that you need to look closer at to see that, actually, it’s quite messy up close.
Eventually gathering my thoughts, I make my way over, taking in the man opposite him. He’s a looker too, his hair as thick as Jude’s but shorter and darker. He clocks me, his smile knowing, and his sudden diversion of attention has Jude craning his neck to find me.
“I guess this is her.” Jude’s brother stands and steps around the white table between them, as Jude stands too.
“This is her.” He smiles mildly. “Amelia, this is my biggest little brother, Casey.”
“Amelia.” Casey kisses both my cheeks. “You’re quite a surprise.”
What am I supposed to say to that? I look at Jude, and he shrugs. “It’s lovely to meet you.” Casey looks down my front. “Nice dress.”
I die a thousand deaths. “I didn’t expect to be here this morning.”
“Sit,” Jude says, lowering. I join them and accept the coffee Jude pours me, smiling my thanks.
“Yeah, I heard you had a heavy night last night.”
I throw Jude a disbelieving stare. He shrugs again. “Your brother’s embellishing.”
Jude snorts into his cup, and Casey laughs. “What do you do for a living, Amelia?” he asks.
“I’m a financial adviser,” I tell him, trying to keep my frown at bay. “It’s utterly boring.”