Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
But he sucked with words, and some things were unacceptable to say.
I crossed my arms. “I’d like an apology.”
It didn’t matter that I considered Andras a second father. Or that his words probably came out of concern.
“Do you not hear the rumors?” He doubled down, gesturing in the direction of the throngs of wealthy members on the other side of the wall. “Zachary Sun and his friends only know how to take, use, and abuse. He is a playboy. He will never take you seriously. He can help you with something now, then stop when he tires of you.”
He was right.
Zach said so himself.
I was a Band-Aid. A cure. An antidote.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
A means to an end.
I tilted my chin up. “I’m a big girl.”
“Ah, but you are still a girl.” Andras tapped my nose, peering down at me. “Do yourself a favor and listen to a grown-up for once in your life. That thing with your stepmother should be buried right along with your late father. He would want you to get along with her, Fae. He would want you to start fresh. Choose peace, not war.”
I wasn’t the one who chose the war.
I was dragged into it, kicking and screaming.
I shook my head. My next class with Zach started in ten minutes. I wondered if he’d even show up, everything considered.
“I need to go.” I tightened the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “Thanks for the advice, but I’m going for it.”
I twisted on my heel, marching to the women’s locker room. As soon as I elbowed past the door, I collapsed onto a desolate bench and buried my face in my hands.
It’s fine.
You’re fine.
Zach Sun is your ticket to redemption, and you’ve never shied away from one-night stands.
This isn’t dirty. It isn’t wrong. And this won’t end with your heart splattered on the piste, a sabre speared through it.
That was the thing about growing up in an environment absent of human affection. I found it in any place I could—including, and especially, in one-night stands.
Growing up, Dad delivered scraps of love in titrated doses in hopes they’d go unnoticed by the other three Ballantine women.
He did his best to keep the peace, hoping to raise all three of his daughters in harmony. And he did consider Tabby and Reggie his daughters, equal in value to me, even if they didn’t share a drop of his blood.
They just refused to see it.
And I? I had no problem warming my heart with cardio and the musky sheets of a man.
In fact, I’d long suspected I had the exact opposite problem that Zach did. I craved the feel of another person’s skin on mine. Took my pleasure in hookups and didn’t look back.
Relationships were high-stakes. Risky.
Sex was simple. Instant gratification.
And Zach was a god among men. I was at no risk of falling in love with the broody, patronizing billionaire sitting atop an ivory tower.
I produced my phone from my duffel bag, skimming through my best friend’s texts.
Ari:
I can’t believe we won’t celebrate your birthday together.
Farrow:
Me, either.
Farrow:
You’re my favorite person in the whole world right now.
Farrow:
(Not to sound like a stage-five clinger or anything.)
Ari:
More than Keanu Reeves?
Farrow:
Yes.
Ari:
More than Taylor Swift?
Farrow:
Yes.
Ari:
More than Madonna?
Farrow:
Hey, don’t push it.
She’s the queen of pop.
Ari:
Merp.
Farrow:
Well, gotta go have a sword fight with the guy I’m masturbating to on the reg.
Farrow:
Talk later.
Ari:
Way to make me feel like a loser.
Ari:
The highlight of my day was getting my nails done.
Ari:
P.S. When was the last time you got laid? Maybe trade in the sword for his, ya know, sword.
He stood me up.
The telltale signs of disappointment looped around my ankles and tugged.
It was stupid. I had no reason to be upset. After all, I’d get my paycheck for this training session either way.
Now I had a rare ninety minutes of free time to do with as I pleased.
And still, almost ten minutes had passed since the appointment time, yet I hovered by our piste, wrapped up in full fencing gear, my helmet clutched in my fist as I surveyed the gym.
Did I keep waiting?
Only if you’re an idiot.
Hmm… debatable these days.
With a huff, I plopped down on the piste, my elbows digging into my knees.
Another ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
After twenty, I called it quits.
He wasn’t going to come.
Screw this.
I hopped up, swung my weapons carrier over my shoulder, and strode out the gym. Fencers around me battled in full force.
The humming air conditioners and clinking swords assaulted my ears. Envy licked at my chest, something dark blooming within.
Anger.
He could have texted me.
He should have texted me.
I could be home. In bed. Perhaps sleeping a full four hours for the first time in two years.
The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. How dare he? The last decent sleep I had was in the womb.
My feet slapped the tiles as I stomped into the locker room, traded my gear for a plain t-shirt and jeans, and bulldozed toward the exit.