Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Romeo Costa: Please, don’t fuck it up. Love prevails, loneliness is a cureless condition, etc.
Ollie vB: ?
Romeo Costa: YOU NEED A FUCKING WIFE AND I NEED A FUCKING YACHT, OKAY?
Ollie vB: Go buy your own yacht if you have such a hard on for one.
Zach Sun: With the way his wife spends, let’s hope he can afford a Disney+ subscription, let alone a yacht.
Romeo Costa: It’s just the same shows all over again. Besides, we share a password with the Townsends.
Zach Sun: She is going to make you remortgage your property at this rate.
Romeo Costa: At the very least, I’ll be poor and fashionable, unlike whatever the fuck I caught you wearing this morning.
Zach Sun: A seven-layered jacket and tape bracelet. It was Fae’s first time at Balenciaga. She got overwhelmed by the floating limbs. What was I supposed to do? My wife gifted it to me.
Romeo Costa: I wouldn’t know how that feels.
Zach Sun: Didn’t Dallas gift you a chocolate sculpture for Christmas?
Romeo Costa: And then she ate it.
Zach Sun: It’s the thought that counts.
Romeo Costa: She finished it before we even finished opening presents.
Ollie vB: Anyway, save the date.
Zach Sun: What if Briar says no?
Ollie vB: You’re great for my ego, aren’t you?
Romeo Costa: We’ll be there.
Ollie vB: Good. No kids, please.
Romeo Costa: Then how the hell are you going to attend?
Ollie vB: Hilarious.
Zach Sun: It actually was.
Ollie vB: I hate both of you.
Chapter Eighty-One
Oliver
“When am I getting my fucking candy?”
Sebastian punctuated his complaint by shoving his ball cap lower down his forehead. He hadn’t stopped grumbling behind his mask since we’d begun our stroll on a random D.C. street.
I continued to whistle, pretending to ignore his question, still feeling on top of the whole damn world. I’d finally managed to get him out of the house to see a plastic surgeon.
Of course, coaxing him into leaving the south wing required a hard bargain. Namely, some very discontinued Butterfinger BBs. Had I managed to snag a pack? Nope. Would I inform him? Absolutely not.
Someone zipped by on a motorcycle.
Seb lowered his chin until the guy rounded the corner, his fingers holding his sunglasses to his cheeks in case they slipped. “The candy, Oliver.”
“It’s not candy. It’s a brand-new shell.” I didn’t bother hiding the pep in my step, still stupidly excited to have him out and about, breathing fresh air, though he did resemble an overly private celebrity desperate to avoid a new scandal. “A top-of-the-line skiff that’s going to cost more than a car.”
Yes, he’d managed to bargain for one of those, too.
Seb shrugged. “Same shit.”
With his inheritance and stock fund, he could afford one on his own. He just couldn’t accept the delivery. That would require bringing it to the lake, and that would require leaving his wing. I’d agreed to handle everything if he joined me on this day trip.
I shoved my hands into my front pockets. “You know, we can make this interesting.”
“Oh?” Sebastian followed me into a swanky skyscraper. “Is my jacked-up face and ruined life not entertaining enough for you now?”
I groaned. “I mean, we can up the ante.”
“What do you have in mind?”
We stopped in front of the elevator. Other people milled around us, and though I couldn’t see Sebastian’s face, I knew very fucking well that he was on edge. He didn’t even want to be seen by my parents, so the prospect of complete strangers was out of the question.
“A million dollars if you have coffee with me at a nearby café,” I offered.
Seb snorted. “No offense, but I need more money like the Duggars need more kids.”
“There must be something you want.”
Sebastian pretended to perk up. “My old face back?”
The man woke up every day determined to be a twelve-inch dick to me.
We crammed inside the elevator, Seb with his chin glued to his chest. The receptionist, whose face was clearly well-acquainted with the surgeon’s hands, tried to flirt with us. I let her down nicely, while Seb didn’t even grace her advances with an answer.
We’d arrived ten minutes early, so we leafed through old magazines in the otherwise empty waiting room. Finally, a nurse invited us into Dr. Perry’s office. The man couldn’t be more than 40, with a jaw squarer than a fucking UPS box and fresh hair implants.
He laced his fingers, eyes swinging between us. “How can I help you?”
Seb gestured toward me. “You can get him to stop riding my ass about fixing my face.”
I ignored Seb’s quip, forcing a tight chuckle. “My brother was injured in a boating accident fifteen years ago. We were wondering if there’s a way to rebuild the structure of his original face.”
“He was wondering.” Seb slumped in his seat, a knee swung outward. “Not me. I know damn well there is no way back from what’s happening here.” He circled his face.