Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Ripley is friends with Jeremiah and stopped to say hello to Sutton,” I say.
She hums.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to bring them up.”
She places her glass down with a clink against the tabletop. “It’s fine. I saw Reid got sentenced and will spend the rest of his life behind bars for his crimes. That made me feel a bit better.”
I give her a small smile, but she doesn’t see it. She’s too consumed by her own memories to notice.
It wasn’t until the Friday of the Senior Mixer, the night I came home crying, that I learned that my mom knew the Brewers. But it wasn’t until later, well into my freshman year of college, that I realized how she knew them.
It was after her divorce, and Reid had given her a fake name and purported to be a bachelor looking for romance. He love-bombed her, and she fell hard. It wasn’t until she saw him in the news that she realized he was a billionaire business mogul—a married billionaire business mogul.
It was her second heartbreak and too close on the heels of the first. I saw her cry more over him than I recall her sobbing over my father.
It was also the last time she fell in love.
She stands abruptly, taking her plate to the kitchen. “What is he like now? Ripley, I mean.”
I stand, puzzled, and follow her into the kitchen. She never wants to talk about the Brewers. Ever.
“He’s still an asshole,” I say. “Not much has changed on that front.”
“Well, stay away from him. Trust me. If he’s anything like his father, he can be ridiculously sexy, handsome, charming, and hard to resist.”
I snort.
“But resist him,” she says, staring at me intently. “If you ever do anything I ask of you, let it be this.”
I laugh, refilling my wineglass. “Mother, you have nothing to worry about there. Ripley is the only enemy I have in this world.”
“Good. Now fill my glass, and let’s change the subject again.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan to me.”
I fill her glass to the brim and then watch her slurp the top as she moves across the townhouse. All I can do is shake my head.
Me? Fall for Ripley Brewer?
“You really should stop thinking about my dick, Peaches.”
I snort and take a long, slow drink.
Not in a million fucking years.
Chapter Five
Georgia
Music carries across Sutton’s backyard on a warm, gentle breeze. Beads of sweat roll down my chest, catching in my bikini top. I close my eyes, relishing the moment of relaxation, and listen to the fountain splash into the pool in the distance.
“If I lived here, I wouldn’t leave this spot,” I say, appreciating the buttery-soft chaise cushions. “Are these the chairs that were on backorder for sixteen years?”
She laughs. “Yup. The closest Jeremiah and I have ever been to breaking up was over these chairs. If he has a fault, it’s impatience when he really wants something.”
“Like he wanted you.”
“And other things.” She wiggles her white-painted toes. “We’ve been discussing trying for a baby as soon as we’re married.”
Really? I swallow my surprise. “How do you feel about that?”
She rolls onto her side to face me. “I know I always said that I wasn’t in any rush to have children, but I’m slowly changing my mind.”
I turn, too, and remove my sunglasses.
“Why are you reconsidering?” I ask.
“I know what you’re thinking—that Jeremiah might be pressuring me into parenthood because he’s been very vocal about wanting a ton of kids.”
Exactly.
“But it’s really not that, Georgia. When I thought about having kids before, the first things that popped into my head were negative. I’d have no free time. Traveling would be a pain in the ass. Kids are expensive.” She looks down the length of her body. “I’ve worked hard for these abs, and you know they’d never be the same.”
I give her a soft smile. She’s given me that list of reasons a hundred times, but instead of agreeing with her, I remain silent. Sometimes she works through things by saying them aloud, and I’ll always be her safe space when she needs to navigate life.
“But now, when I think about it …” Her smile grows. “I imagine Jeremiah’s strong arms holding a tiny baby with my eyelashes and his cheekbones. I can see him in the pool with our child, teaching him or her to swim. And I feel like I belong in that scenario. When I think about it, I get a lump in my throat in the best way. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to explain it. Sometimes you can’t explain feelings.”
She wrinkles her nose at me.
“And it’s no one’s business besides you and your husband’s, anyway. You’ll know what’s right for you,” I say.
She holds my smile for a moment and then turns onto her back. “I don’t know why I feel better now, but I do.”