Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Sander called to ask if I wanted to come in and work with him,” he states and I just look at him, confused.
“Is this a good thing?” I ask, laughing nervously, and he just nods.
“It is a good thing,” he finally says. “When we were working on the film.” He brings his cup of coffee up to his lips, taking a sip. “I asked him all these questions, and then we discussed what we thought the shots should be. It was different than just being in front of the camera. I loved the creative side of it.”
“He wants you to go back and work with him?” Please say no, please say no, but all the pleading isn’t going to work.
“Yes,” he confirms, and I lean forward, putting my coffee cup on the tray that sits on the table.
“How long would it be for?” Another question that I don’t want to ask but have no choice.
“About a month,” he says the words, and just like that, everything sinks inside me. “Do you think you can come with me?” he asks, but doesn’t give me a chance to answer him. “Will you come with me?”
“Um,” is the only thing I say before he moves his hand off my legs and gets up.
“Think about it,” he urges, looking down at me. “I’m going to go shower.” He bends to kiss me before turning and walking out of the room.
I listen to him walk up the stairs and only when I know he’s in my bedroom do I let out the breath I was holding in me. I get up and walk over to my purse at the front door, calling Abigail right away.
“Hey,” I say when she answers in a whisper, “are you busy?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles, “I’m having tea with the queen.” I can’t help but snort out laughing. “The baby kept me up all night with hiccups,” she says, yawning. “I swear if this kid comes out looking anything but like me, I’m going to be pissed.”
“You know he’s coming out looking like Tristan, right?” I try to let her down nicely.
“Why would you say that to me?” she screeches. “Why are you so mean?”
“I’m just saying he’s got some strong genes. Look at Penelope.” I point out that she looks exactly like him, minus a couple of pieces.
“Did you call to shit all over me today?” she mumbles, and I hear sheets rustle in the background. I look back upstairs to make sure that Romeo can’t hear me.
“No,” I say, sitting on the steps. “I called for some advice.”
“Really?” she says, almost singing. “Isn’t this interesting.”
I roll my eyes. “Romeo has to go back to LA.” I start with the most important part of the conversation because nothing else matters. “Actually, his director just called and asked him if he wanted to help with the back end of the film.”
“Do actors do that?” she asks.
“No,” I say right away, “but he worked with him when they were in Turkey, and I think this is like his dream.”
“Then he has to do it,” she says the words my head has been screaming since he sat me down and told me. “Is that even a question?”
“No,” I say softly, “he wants me to go with him.”
She gasps. “I’m having a baby,” she reminds me, and I can hear her struggling to get out of bed. “You said you would be here.”
“You have two months to go,” I point out. “I’ll be back soonish.”
“So that means you’re going?” she huffs, and I close my eyes. “You know you want to go with him. Why don’t you just admit it?”
“It’s not that easy,” I admit to her. “It’s just going back to—”
“The scene of the crime,” she cuts in and laughs at her joke, and I groan.
“It’s just going to be weird,” I finally say out loud.
“Okay, are you going with him because you don’t trust him?” she asks the question that only she would.
“I trust him,” I say firmly. “I don’t think he would ever do that to me again.”
“You don’t think,” she repeats my words and I shake my head.
“Those were the wrong words,” I finally say out loud. “He wouldn’t hurt me like that.” If I know anything about what we went through, I can bet my life he would never ever hurt me the way he did.
“Gabriella,” she says my name, “would you just stop being a pussy-ass bitch and go with him? At least give it a try.”
I laugh. “Did you just call me a pussy-ass bitch?” I can’t help but belly laugh.
“I said what I said,” she declares, and I can hear her huffing as she walks. “Now I’m going to go to the bathroom, and then I’m going to go and sit on the couch and eat a plate of strawberries.”