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the world to go fuck itself, because she was who she was, and
she wasn’t ashamed. And for all those who had a problem with
it, for anyone who thought that she was wrecking Pierre’s
legacy, that she was shitting on his memory, they could give
their heads a shake because she didn’t give two fucks what
they thought.
She sat down hard on the edge of the bed, her heart a
painful hammering in her chest, a blacksmith’s hammer
forging something brighter, bolder, harder out of something
that had been soft.
One day, maybe, but it would take time.
She had no idea how to raise her middle finger to the world.
She’d never had any idea. That was really why she’d let
Cassia go. Because she knew that someone so bold, so fiery,
someone who contained such unbridled joy and radiant life,
deserved more than the shadows she had to offer, even if what
was on offer only lasted a single night or a few beautiful,
fleeting hours.
Chapter 8
Cassia
How was it possible that in her old life, six months had
come and gone, the changing of seasons like the turning of the
tide or the cycles of the moon? Unremarkable and rote.
Six months in Vegas felt like sixty years.
“God, I’m exhausted. Those guys, Jesus, they could drink.”
Summer opened the car door on the opposite side and slid into
the backseat at the same time Cassia did.
They both collapsed, exhausted after the raucous, rowdy
bachelor party. “I thought the groom was never going to pass
out. I predict liver failure for sure.”
