Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
But I wasn’t a slob.
I wasn’t an embarrassment (though, to them I was).
I wasn’t backward or gauche (maybe a wee bit awkward, but only because I was quiet, and even though I could find the good in most people, I liked my solitude, and when I was around others, I didn’t like there to be a bunch of them).
In other words, I was just…
Me.
And I wanted to be strong in the fact that I was me and not let their many insinuations that they weren’t thrilled with that get to me.
Sadly, I had not managed to arrive at the place I could do that.
And one of the things that always hit me where it hurt was Blake implying I had no style.
I had style.
It was just my style.
Blake kept speaking.
“Now, do you need a plus one?”
Her tone on that question was unpleasant.
Even cutting.
Because she knew the answer.
And that would be no.
Instantly, visions filled my head.
Visions of me wearing whatever confection of bridesmaid dress was winging its way to me, walking down the aisle, turning my head, and seeing Rix sitting in a pew, smiling the same big smile he’d shot my way when I’d voted for the same furniture he did.
Visions of sitting by my sister’s side, being ignored, at the bridal table, looking out into the reception, and seeing Rix there, winking at me encouragingly.
Visions of how my sister and my parents would react when I arrived beside Rix as he walked, or wheeled, I didn’t care which, with me when they first met him, seeing him in all his tanned, fit, ridiculously gorgeous glory.
I’d say things like, “This is Rix Hendrix. He works with me at Trail Blazer, Hale Wheeler’s new charity. He’s the Director of Programs because most of the work is based out of doors, and Rix has visited at least one state park or forest in every state of the union.”
Or proudly announce, “He used to be a firefighter. He’s saved countless lives of people and wildlife and innumerable dollars’ worth of property. Gave his legs doing it, but he was down for an insanely short period of time before he was using a handcycle on the trails or hiking in his prosthetics.”
They would not approve of him in the slightest.
But all three of them, for three different reasons, would admire him, even if they’d never admit to it.
Though, I would stand tall, Rix at my side.
Dancing with Rix, even if I was sitting in his lap while he was in his chair.
Being Rix’s.
And Rix being mine.
“Alexandra,” my sister snapped.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you’re there, wasting my time by not speaking? Or yes, you need a plus one?”
“Yes, I need a plus one,” I blurted.
Silence.
Oh hell.
Now what had I done?
“You’re…seeing somebody?”
Oh God.
I should tell her I’m bringing a girlfriend. Pretty much all of my friends would be down with a free trip to NYC and a stay in my father’s fabulous brownstone, and Lord knew, he had the room to put up another person (and I didn’t question this because, no way, other than me, he’d allow anyone else to stay at his pad—I was an introvert who disliked crowds, he was an extrovert who seemed only to put up with (barely) the entirety of humanity not including a few of his close friends who already lived in New York, so they wouldn’t need a place to stay—so absolutely no cousins or friends or errant aunties were going to mess up his sanctuary with their presence).
I did not say this.
I said, “Yes, I’m seeing someone.”
“Who?” she demanded.
“Someone from work,” I lied.
“Is it…oh my God.” Her voice turned breathy. “Are you dating Judge Oakley?” Before I could say no, she continued, “I thought he was hot and heavy with that girl, the daughter of Genny and Tom.”
Like she knew Imogen Swan, America’s Sweetheart, and Tom Pierce, one of the greatest tennis players in history.
Though, since she existed in circles that included (even if peripherally, the rich folk were an incestuous bunch in NYC) Jamie Oakley, Judge’s dad, who I knew was an acquaintance of my dad’s, and Jamie was pals with Tom, maybe she did.
“No, not Judge. He’s definitely with Chloe.”
“Hmm,” she sniffed. “Then who?”
It never would get back to him, and later, to explain why he didn’t show, and in his place I was bringing a friend, I could say he was busy, doing good work to save the children of the world, I announced. “Rix. John. John Hendrix. But he’s called Rix.”
“Rix?” Again the unpleasant tone. “What’s he do?”
“Like I said, he works with me.”
“What does he do, working with you?”
“He’s the Director of Programs.”
“Is that important?”
“Well, he and I are on the third line down from the top on the organizational chart.”
A moment’s pause, probably Blake trying to think if she’d ever heard the term “organizational chart” and if she remembered what it meant.