Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 164828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Okay, right.” He throws his hands up in frustration. “So, let’s put each other through another six months of hell then, shall we? Because proving a fucking point is so much more important than being happy.” He yells as he loses control of himself.
I roll my eyes. “Go away.”
“I am away. I’ve flown all this way to see you and you won’t even talk to me.”
“And there it is again.” I smile to myself with a shake of my head. “Unfucking believable.”
“What?” he yells. “What’s that supposed to fucking mean?”
“It’s all about you, Nathan. Everything is all about you. For once…,” I yell, “just fucking once, can you put my wishes before your own?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to be friends. Listen to me when I speak. I can’t say it any clearer than that. I want to be friends.”
“I don’t want you as a fucking friend, Eliza. I want you as my wife!” he shouts.
What?
He steps back as if shocked that he just said that out loud.
“Well, that’s not happening,” I say quietly. “Because at the moment, I only want a friend. Having you as a husband is the very last thing on my mind.”
His eyes hold mine.
“Friendship. Take it or leave it,” I say.
He clenches his jaw. “Leave it.”
“Like I knew you would.” The Uber pulls up. I get in and slam the door.
Nathan stands on the sidewalk, his face is murderous, and he glares at me as the car pulls out into the traffic.
I’m not even joking. Nathan Mercer really is an asshole.
* * *
Sleep: the wonder drug. I wish they sold it in bottles.
I walk down the sidewalk and smile. I’m feeling weirdly relaxed today.
I don’t feel regret. I don’t feel anxious at all about Nathan’s and my fight last night.
I feel in control. I feel like myself. Liberated, even.
Being a bitch is empowering.
I’ve been to the gym this morning. I did my last grocery shop, and now I’ve just bought another two cheap suitcases to take my extra things home.
I walk into my building and take the elevator to my floor. My phone pings with a message in my handbag. It’s probably the girls about tonight. I have my farewell dinner tonight at a restaurant, and I’m looking forward to it.
The elevator doors open. I wheel the empty suitcases down to my apartment and dump them next to my door. I take out my phone to see the text. It’s from Nathan.
Okay, fine.
Friends.
I twist my lips to stop myself from smiling. I reply.
Thank you.
Another text bounces in.
Can we have lunch?
I roll my eyes. Great. I throw my phone onto the couch and don’t reply. I flick the kettle on. Another text bounces in.
Friends eat lunches together,
you know?
I narrow my eyes. What will I reply with? I put my phone down again. God, he’s going to play on the friend’s thing now, isn’t he?
Another text bounces in.
This is your last chance to have lunch with an ostrich before he flies out this afternoon.
I smile at his ostrich analogy. Okay, he’s going home. There’s no chance of me giving in, and he gets it.
I text back.
Fine.
Where do you want to meet?
A text comes back.
What do you feel like?
Hmm, he’s being nice today.
Meet me at Hugo’s on 42nd in an hour?
A reply comes straight back in.
Sounds good.
See you then.
I walk into Hugo’s at 1:00 p.m, and Nathan stands when I arrive. He’s at a table near the window.
“Hello.” He puts his hand out to shake mine.
I look at his outstretched hand. Nathan has never shaken my hand apart from the first day we met. Oh God, here we go.
I shake his hand and fake a smile. “Nice to see you again so soon, Nathan.”
“Likewise, Eliza.” He smiles sweetly.
I take a seat, and he sips his coffee. “You ordered already?” I ask.
“Yes, ” he replies casually. “And I told them that we’ll split the bill.”
“Okay, good, that makes it easier.” I pick up the menu and look at my choices as I try to hide my smirk. This is him being friends. “What are you having?”
“The lasagne.”
Of course, he would have that.
I look through the choices. “I’ll have the salad. Lasagne is too heavy for me.”
“You don’t like lasagne anymore?” He asks dryly.
“Too heavy,” I repeat casually. “Leaves me with a bitter aftertaste.”
He stares at me flatly, and I bite the side of my cheek to stop myself from smiling.
Game on, asshole.
“Well, my taste buds haven’t changed.” He rearranges the napkin on his lap. “Obviously.”
“I can’t imagine they would with your gorging at the all-you-can-eat buffet.” I close the menu. “The germs in those places are off the charts… or so I’ve heard.”
He catches his bottom lip with his teeth to stop himself from saying something snarky. He sips his coffee, and I really have to concentrate on not smiling.