Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
But…
We?
“Exactly who’s involved in this fiasco?” he demanded.
“Well, Chloe, me…I’m sure you know Cadence and Dru.”
“Yes, I got those four,” Jamie drawled.
“There’s also Mika. And Genny,” Hale went on.
Naturally.
“And Tom, Duncan. Alex wasn’t a fan, but Rix thinks it’s a scream,” Hale continued.
“Fucking hell,” Jamie muttered.
“And Judge,” Hale finished.
It felt like he’d been sucker punched.
So he forced out his sardonic, “Excellent,” and he hung up on Hale.
He then called his son.
“Dad—” Judge answered.
“Turn this fucking boat around, Judge.”
“Dad, listen to me—”
“Turn it around.”
“What’s going on with you two?” Judge asked.
And there was one question answered, what had precipitated this drastic action.
They’d all definitely noticed he and Nora no longer spent time together.
“It’s not your business.”
“How do you figure that?” Judge returned, and his words were becoming aggravated.
“We’re adults. I don’t get involved in your relationship with your wife.”
“Think about that,” Judge clipped.
“About me not getting involved when you and Chloe fight?”
“Chloe and I don’t fight. I tell Chloe something that’s bothering me. She either decides it’s important to factor into her life, or not. And then I realize, if it’s not, it’s not important, and if it is, all is copasetic.”
“I’ve seen you fight, Judge.”
“You’ve seen Chloe throw dramas. Everyone knows to ignore her when she does that. It eventually passes.”
Jamie blew out an infuriated sigh.
“What I mean is, think about how you jumped right to that comparison,” Judge carried on.
“Sorry?” Jamie queried.
“Whatever is happening with you and Nora being akin to my relationship with my wife.”
Fucking hell.
Jamie grew silent.
“Yup,” Judge said, ending that one-syllable word with a decisive pop.
“Bring us home. We’ll have dinner together on the boat. We’ll work things out. And when I get home, I’ll find time to sit down with you and your sister and explain why this can’t be what all of you think it is.”
“You can talk to me until it’s two thousand and ninety-nine, and I won’t get that. Dru either.”
“Judge—”
“You’re allowed to be happy, Dad.”
“Judge!” he bit, but he got nothing further out.
“Mom was whatever Mom was. That wasn’t on you,” Judge bit back. “Rosalind died. Her loss was hideous, but it happened. That wasn’t on you either. Live your life, for shit’s sake. And be happy.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Jamie gritted.
“Don’t do stupid shit to fuck up your life to make me talk to you like this.”
Jamie shook his head. “I cannot believe you’re buying into Chloe’s matchmaking maneuvers.”
“Oh yeah. You’re right. When she’s on one of those, we fight. But this one, Dad, this one, I’m with her all the fucking way.” Before Jamie could say a word, Judge continued, “Love you to my soul. Now I’m saying goodbye so I won’t hang up on my stubborn, stupid-ass Dad. Bye, Dad.” But he didn’t hang up, he ordered, “And don’t call Dru. It’ll be a waste of your time. She’s in on this all the way too. Love you. Get your shit together. Have fun. Later.”
And then his son was gone.
An hour and a half later, Jamie was behind the bar in the forward lounge wearing a suit and shirt, no tie, and he’d dismissed the steward because he could make his own damned drink, something he was just getting down to doing when Nora swanned in.
And swanning she did, wearing a long Pucci dress in the usual striking, but arbitrary pattern of that design house, this one in black, burgundy, red, cream, several blues, orange and green. The long sleeves were flared and hung down at least a foot at the back sides of her hands, and the V at the neck was deep and showed cleavage.
Oh, and the jersey material clung to her curves.
Right.
He was disinheriting both of his children.
Her long, thick, rich brown and caramel hair (those were her words to describe the color) was down and floating around her shoulders in waves. And the grace of her gait wasn’t lost on him, nor were the different pair of gold, strappy, high-heeled sandals she’d donned for their evening à deux.
He might not understand the act of murder.
But he was beginning to understand the urge to commit it.
His first wife Belinda had an icy beauty every man, including Jamie, wanted to thaw.
His second wife Rosalind might have had fiery red hair, but she didn’t have the countenance that went with it. She was warm and nurturing, from the moment he met her, to the last words she spoke to him.
Nora was a firebrand. She lived life no-holds-barred. She was rich, and she flaunted it. She had opinions, and she spoke them. She had attitude, and she didn’t dilute it. And if she cared about you, she’d do anything for you if it was within her power, and if it wasn’t, she’d find a way regardless.
As such, with hindsight, Jamie saw that sex with Belinda had been adequate. They were each other’s firsts. They’d been learning. But in the beginning, Belinda was all about pleasing him, rather than being in the moment and letting it wash over them, or better, sweep them away. At the end, she was rarely ever sober, so he couldn’t stomach touching her.