Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“Charlie,” I snap.
“Lady Macbeth, come here, my love,” Jane says quickly, trying to cajole the cat away from Charlie. The cat looks up at the ceiling.
“And she’s deaf,” Charlie notes.
“She’s most definitely not. Wait and see.” Jane leaves my bed to prove her point, and the stairs creak—I’m hoping to see that tatted guy breach the doorway.
Instead, my gangly little sister stumbles in. She wobbles like she’s fueled on energy drinks and sleeplessness from writing fics.
“You okay?” I ask Luna, her Metallica T-shirt stained with paint and glitter.
“Yeahyeahyeah.” She almost trips over Beckett. “Sorrysorry.”
“You’re fine,” he says, watching as she careens towards my bed.
I sit up like I can stupidly help. Pain explodes in my chest, fucking Christ. I grind hard on my teeth.
Both Sulli and Jane react fast and catch my sister’s hands on either side, stopping her from collapsing on the bed and bouncing the mattress.
Sulli lets go of Luna’s hand as Jane twirls her in a dance move. Luna wobbles and outstretches her arms. “Whoa,” my sister says.
“Are you drunk?” Charlie asks outright.
“I had a Four Loko.” Green marker scribble runs down her arms and stains her cheeks. Her light brown hair is a matted mess. “The world is spinning.”
I’m not used to Luna drinking beer or liquor. At all. But I’ve never seen her exceed one drink. Sometimes I hate that I’m so fixated on alcohol, but it’s always in my face. Always brought to my attention by the media, by my family history, and I just can’t ignore it.
What’s even in a Four Loko? Is that a beer?
I try to crack a knuckle—realizing, I can’t even do that without the use of my right hand. “You’re not going out, are you?”
“Nopity.” Luna drifts to the windowsill. “I’m home for the night. Per Farrow’s request.”
So my boyfriend hasn’t been completely quiet. It’s clear he’s had some conversations with my family while I was asleep. It makes me feel like I was awake. Like someone grabbed my wheel and steered. Keeping everything upright when I couldn’t move.
I feel myself start to smile.
“Maximoff and Farrow!! Sitting in a tree!” someone yells from outside my window on the Philly street. “K-I-S-S—” Giggling erupts outside.
“How many times does that happen?” Beckett asks, giving the window a what the fuck face.
“Every single night,” I answer with indifference.
I’m trying my best not to let this fact grate on me. The public enthusiasm surrounding my relationship is a product of fame, and I don’t want to be irritated that people shout at my window. But this involves Farrow, so it’s harder to let go.
Beckett glances at Charlie. “Remind me to never fall in love.”
He grins. “Already in my calendar for the rest of your life.”
Luna sinks down on the windowsill. “So…maybe I’ll fall head-over-heels and out-of-orbit for my date next week.”
The air strains. Everyone is staring at my sister like she’s actually flown into another fucking galaxy.
My gaze sets sternly. “By date, do you mean the auction, and by auction, do you mean that sixty-year-old man who bid on you?”
Luna burps into her fist. “Yep.”
“No,” I snap, a different kind of pain clawing my muscles.
“It’s not a date, Luna,” Jane says, the black cat cradled contently in her arms. “It’s simply an obligatory function where you don’t need to even speak. It can be a silent hour.”
“We don’t know how long it’ll be,” Charlie corrects. “It could last till morning.”
My sister has her eyes set on me. “So if you’re going three-fourths Loren Hale right now, I should expect a pretty harsh reaction from him?” Luna asks.
I’m completely rigid, my jaw sharpened. “Yeah, don’t call it a date around Dad.” Jesus. What am I doing with this fucked-up auction? Why am I letting Ernest Mangold control my sister’s fate? It’s all wrong. It’s all cursed.
The porn star—fuck that.
Fuck this.
“Moffy.” Luna stands, clutching the curtains to steady herself. “I retract my statement. Notta date. Just a meeting. Like a business thing.” She tilts her head. “Better?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I lean back, my mind still reeling. None of this is okay. It’s not, but I need time to think about the auction. Right now, my pain has taken the front seat, and I need to find my fucking phone.
10
FARROW KEENE
“Shotgun him,” Donnelly suggests to me, his ratty Van Halen shirt almost a decade old. That blue-eyed shameless motherfucker leans on the stove of the cramped kitchen.
We’re in the famous one’s townhouse. Oscar digs through the cupboard for snacks, listening to this conversation take a turn.
“I’m not smoking out my boyfriend.” I spin a butter knife between my fingers. “A. weed makes him sick and B. he’s Maximoff.” I’m sitting on the counter next to melting ice packs, a thermometer, and a portable fan, waiting for a bagel to toast.
Mostly, I’m giving Maximoff alone time with his family. I’ll be up there soon.