Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Cami followed, losing sight of it when it flew behind an oakleaf hydrangea. She heard the soft clack of what sounded like shoes on stone and leaned around the house to view the area. There was Seraphina on the other side of the pool, and for a blink, Cami saw the flutter of tiny wings right behind her before, again, the butterfly disappeared.
Seraphina had her arms crossed and was chewing on her lip as she paced one way and then the other, clearly nervous and troubled.
Cami stood there for a moment, using Seraphina’s distraction to gather her resolve. She sensed that she should be prepared for whatever the woman was going to tell her. And as she hesitated, this feeling descended, stronger than it’d been as she’d traveled the streets of this neighborhood. She felt them, her mother and her sister, and she supposed that wasn’t surprising considering where she was, but the weight of their presence seemed more real than simply the memories running rampant in her head. And though she couldn’t exactly describe it, that feeling gave her courage. And some strange certainty.
She glanced at the pool house, remembering that long-ago day she’d first spoken to Rex before she even knew for sure she was pregnant with Cyrus. She had this mad desire to sprint back through time and grab him and avoid all the tragic in-between, all the pain and the sorrow.
If only life worked that way.
Somehow, though . . . years later . . . here she was once more, under circumstances she’d never have imagined. And again, she felt this odd pause inside, similar to the one she’d felt eleven years before, the one she’d described to Rex on that deck in California.
The thought made her realize that she hadn’t called Rex again as she’d intended. She’d been scared to travel to this neighborhood and then overwhelmed once she’d gotten here, and she hadn’t picked up her phone. She took it from her purse just as Seraphina looked up and saw Cami, and the young woman lifted her hand in greeting.
Cami waved back, and then, instead of calling Rex, she opened her texts to shoot him a quick message about where she was.
She very suddenly felt the air change behind her, the hairs on her neck rising as she began to turn. But before she could, sudden electrified pain radiated, and blackness dropped over her.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Posey’s father’s funeral occurred on a rain-filled Saturday, the sky draped in platinum. On Monday morning, Posey took the company reins. She was already familiar with each case currently being handled, and so the transition was effortless. Or at least as effortless as possible, considering the complicated nature of their business.
The fact that Anton showed neither hide nor hair that day was both appreciated and suspicious. Posey had expected him to put up a fight much more ongoing and deliberate. But the opposite was true. He seemed to have lost interest entirely in the running of the Kiss organization.
He was busy putting the finishing touches on the extravaganza planned at the estate that weekend, so perhaps he’d be back in earnest to battle Posey using the means at his disposal once that was over and done.
Posey expected nothing less from her brother. He’d never been one to acquiesce easily, and she knew from experience he was adept at holding a grudge.
And so, she was even more astonished when Anton invited her to attend his graduation soiree. “Let’s get off to a new start, sis,” he said with a smile. Anton had different smiles for separate occasions, but Posey had never been able to read what they meant. Smiles often confounded her. There were so many types and sizes, and each seemed to say something different. “Bring that boyfriend of yours.”
Her face heated. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just . . . a friend.”
“Maybe that’ll change at my party. Music and wine have that effect.”
Posey pushed her glasses up her nose. She didn’t drink wine. But music . . . her father had told her—on his deathbed no less—to dance as often as possible. “All right then. Thank you. I’ll be there.”
Anton smiled again, an alternate version to the one just prior. “Excellent.”
That Friday night, Posey donned the only dress she owned—a black cocktail gown that she’d worn to a gala her father had insisted she attend for networking purposes. She stood in the mirror and ran her hands down her slim hips and then tucked a piece of wayward hair behind her ear, a subtle buzz beneath her rib cage. She was going to a party, with a boy who liked to kiss her, and they were going to dance. Maybe . . . perhaps, he’d ask her to be his.
Which was ridiculous. She didn’t have time for such things. Nor did she want them. She didn’t even know what that meant or why the thought had popped into her head. Posey slipped on her shoes and headed for the door, noting the strange bounce in her step.