Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Mamma’s eyes filled with tears. “I just lost so much time with them when I was working and traveling. I want to make up for that.”
“I know, baby.”
God, give me patience. Not that I didn’t love my mother or see her goodness. But she was kind of, well … utterly and completely self-involved. It was always her first instinct to think about how a situation affected her, but thankfully, she could also be talked into seeing it from someone else’s perspective. “Mamma, what’s important is Allegra’s mental health and emotional well-being. If Rhode Island would make her happier, then I think it’s smart we all support her in that move.”
As always, my calm words seemed to hit home. Her expression softened. “I suppose that is all that matters. It will give me an excuse to stay in Boston more. I do love the Four Seasons there.”
Allegra sagged into my side with silent relief.
“So that’s a yes on Allegra transferring?”
Mamma sniffled dramatically. “I suppose so.”
Dad grinned. “It’s yes from me. Let me know if you need me to make any calls, sweetheart,” he said to Allegra. “I gotta get back on set. Love you, girls.”
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, Dad.”
“Ti amo, Wes.”
I hung up before my mother could start in on my paleness again. Turning to Allegra, I gave her a reassuring smile. “This will all work out.”
She nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced. “Yeah. I’m sure it will.”
My little sister had locked me in a library all night with a guy I barely knew at my place of work, and yet somehow, I ended up feeling like the bad guy. While she promised we were okay, she disappeared into her room and didn’t come back out.
The guilt worsened the next morning when I got ready for work, only to discover that Allegra was already up and packed. She’d booked a flight from Inverness to London to catch an afternoon flight back to LA. She’d also already called for a car on the estate. Even though we hugged and said we loved each other, things felt strained.
Pulling back from the hug, she looked me in the eye and said, “I hope you wake up, Ari. I hope you wake up and start living again.”
I knew she hadn’t meant to hurt me with the words, but still, they stung. Watching her get into the SUV to head home, I worried I’d made the wrong decision by suggesting she stay in college. And as I walked into the house, it echoed with emptiness again. Striding through, I noticed the absence of her belongings. Her sketch pad, tablet, phone cables, makeup, jewelry. She was so messy.
I missed the mess.
Grabbing a coffee and yogurt, I sat down at the breakfast nook and stared out at the gray sea beyond. Then I looked back into the open-plan living space.
To all the emptiness.
My vision blurred as tears quietly fell down my cheeks.
Eleven
NORTH
Just checking you’re doing OK. Haven’t heard from you in a while.
The text from Emma, my ex-foster mum, made me feel both grateful and guilty. She’d sent it an hour ago. Emma and her husband Nick were two of the first people to reach out to me when the tabloids got hold of the story about Gil MacDonald. Considering they knew the truth, they were concerned about me. I’d assured them I was fine and staying at the club for a while, but that was the last I’d spoken to them. A look at the texts above this new one from Emma reminded me she’d texted while I was in my drunken stupor phase. And I hadn’t responded.
Shit.
I was on my way to collect mail. Usually, the underbutlers brought us our mail, but security had requested I pick it up from them and I was trying not to overanalyze why.
The inquiry from Emma was a pleasant distraction. I tried calling her as I made my way downstairs from where I’d been playing my guitar in the castle turret. The turret was as you’d expect—a small, cylindrical room with narrow, medieval-style windows. It had been transformed into a snug library with built-in bookshelves and a comfortable armchair. Carpeted, it didn’t have the best acoustics, but the walls were thick and it was built up and out from the rest of the building, so I knew I wouldn’t disturb anyone with my music.
I’d written a song about Aria.
The call to Emma would distract me from the woman who was currently tormenting my every waking thought. Unfortunately, it went to her voicemail.
“Hi, Emma, it’s North. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. I was … aye, admittedly I wasn’t in a very good place when you texted a few weeks ago, but that’s no excuse. I’m doing better now, though. We’re just sitting tight, hoping the studio might change its mind about the Blake Forster movie. I’ll keep you posted. I promise. And I hope you and Nick and the kids are all well. Let me know. Love to you all.” Hanging up, I felt mildly less guilty.