Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
But I find myself wanting to know more about her and plan to spend some time surfing the web to read up on the enigma that is Zara Phillips. I know for a fact she would never encourage me to do it and deep down I’m hoping she does the same with me. I have nothing to hide, and there isn’t anything scandalous about me online.
Zara meets my eyes, and for a moment I feel a connection. It’s stupid to think that there would ever be anything between us other than a brief friendship because of our backgrounds. I don’t believe that mumbo jumbo about opposites attracting. You’re normally drawn to people in your category, especially in the music industry.
Yet, I feel something, a current or a bond that is bringing us together. She didn’t have to come over here today, but she did, and clearly, it wasn’t to spend time with the crew. I reach across the table and place my hand on hers, careful not to bother the burn from earlier.
“I know our divorces aren’t the same, but if you need anything, I’m here.”
She squeezes my hand back and doesn’t let go nor do I pull away. The gesture isn’t lost on me, and I honestly like the feeling of her small hand being encased by mine. It isn’t until my name is yelled that I’m pulling away and while I may not be touching her, I am looking at her and smiling.
zara
Eleven
As I near my street, my stomach feels like I have swallowed a rock and it’s now thrashing back and forth, threatening to destroy my insides on its way back out. It’s not because I regret going to the Austin’s house tonight, or that for a brief moment I felt like an idiot for not knowing who Levi truly was. It’s because I don’t know what to expect when I get to my driveway.
Is Van inside waiting for me? What about the paparazzi? Have their numbers increased because Van showed up? These questions run rampant through my mind as I maneuver around the corners, driving as slowly as possible. I don’t want to see him, not tonight at least. This evening was. . . nice. It was pleasant and relaxing.
I don’t want to say it’s been a long time since I’ve had a meaningful conversation, but that is what it felt like tonight. Everything that Levi and I discussed had a different depth to it. He told me about his ex-wife, which of course prompted my big mouth to open and spill about Van being an epic douche. Levi didn’t look at me like I was damaged, but he did offer to be there if I needed someone.
And maybe I do need someone. I don’t necessarily mean him, but someone to talk to. The idea of going to a therapist, though, doesn’t sit high on my priority list, especially being here. One leak to the press and the vultures will descend and invade my life. They have a way of turning something that should be positive into something negative. The last thing I want is to be labeled with a stigma because once that happens, it’ll stay with me forever.
The disturbance in my stomach eases up a bit when my house comes into sight. Seeing it darkened doesn’t do anything to dissipate the unease I feel wondering if Van is inside, waiting for me. I suppose I am somewhat childish by avoiding him, but honestly, what am I going to say? There is no way in hell I’ll ever tell him that it was okay for him to cheat or that I forgive him. To me, that action, of taking another into your sacred space, is unforgivable. Never in a million years would I think that Van would do that to me, but clearly I was wrong.
As soon as I press the button that will open my gate, two photographers appear out of nowhere and start snapping pictures. One yells my name and quickly follows up with a question about Van. I’m tempted to roll down my window and ask them “what about me?” but playing the ‘woe is me’ card has never been my forte.
When the garage door starts to lift, the rock that was in my stomach is back with a vengeance. Van’s car is in the garage like it belongs there. He knows that I don’t want him here so the fact that he is, really twists the knife he’s stabbed in my back even harder. I had hoped to end my day on a high note, but that doesn’t seem like the case now.
I wait in the driver’s seat until the garage door is down and the voices from the photographers are all but non-existent before I find my way into the house. It’s dark except for the colors flashing on the television.