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But I whirl around abruptly and blurt out, “I’m leaving.”
Reed frowns. “What?”
“Um, dishes are done,” I tell Callie. Then, to my brother, “Which means I’m going to go.”
“Why?” He’s confused. “You can just stay here.”
Which is what I’d normally do rather than going back to my apartment.
But not tonight.
I wipe my hands with the dishtowel. “Yeah, no. It’s not that late and I’m not that tired. I can make the drive.”
It’s not necessarily a lie.
It’s just not the whole truth, or the real reason I want to leave.
But before they can argue some more, I quickly bid them both goodbye, kiss Halo on the forehead and practically run out of there. I get into my car and peel out. I’m probably going to have to explain my sudden departure to them later, but for now, it’s okay.
I know I’m acting like a lunatic.
I know that.
And there’s not even a good reason for it.
So yes, my best friend forever uttered the name of the guy that I was once upon a time in love with.
Why wouldn’t she?
She’s his little sister. Of course she’d say his name, bring him up in conversations, keep us all — including me — updated on things happening in his life. Like how he’s a pro-soccer player now, living in New York City; how amazing he’s been doing. Like me, she has very little interest in soccer but since she’s a good sister, she always talks about his achievements with pride.
So it’s not new, me hearing his name mentioned.
That’s the first thing.
The second thing is that whenever I do hear it, his name, I’m okay with it. Yes, I get a little jarred but it’s not that bad. Mostly because I’m over him.
Yup.
I’m completely and irrevocably over that asshole.
Three years ago, he showed me his true colors. He showed me who he was and I promised myself that I’d get over him, didn’t I?
And I did.
I moved on. I got over him. End of story.
So again, I’m acting like a lunatic.
My phone chimes with a text, barging into my thoughts.
Dad: Where are you?
Dad: I need you at the house.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What are the chances of me blowing him off and him taking it nicely?
Probably zero, right?
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, pondering.
I’m also pondering what this could be about. But then I think I know.
I mean what else could it be about, other than my upcoming wedding?
Oh again, did I not mention that?
I’m getting married.
Yes, I am. I have a fiancé.
We haven’t set a date yet. Mostly because he travels a lot for work so his schedule is a little unpredictable. But it’s going to happen next summer. Which further goes to show that my behavior tonight was beyond ridiculous. Because look at me, I’m going to be a married woman soon and I couldn’t possibly be any more moved on than I am.
Now if only I didn’t want to strangle myself every time I thought of my impending nuptials.
Chapter Five
I knock at my father’s study door like a good little daughter.
Something that I never thought that I’d call myself. Not because growing up I made it my mission to be bad and make my dad’s life miserable or whatever. But because I was hardly ever on his radar. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he never realized he had a daughter. Only a son.
But it was a good thing, trust me.
Now that I am on his radar, he won’t leave me alone.
Even so, it takes him at least a couple of minutes to answer my knock. And even then it’s not him, it’s his secretary. With disheveled hair and wiped off lipstick and a skirt that she keeps pulling down as she looks at me with a shy smile.
“Good evening, Miss Jackson,” she says in a chirpy voice. “I’m sorry, we just got busy signing some paperwork.”
It’s a lie.
Even if I couldn’t put two and two together — by two and two I’m referring to the delay in opening the door and her obvious attempts at putting herself back together — there’s no file in her hand to suggest that this was in any way a paperwork signing meeting.
But still, I smile at her like I smile at all my dad’s secretaries. “That’s okay. I’m used to my dad signing a lot of paperwork.”
She chuckles. “He’s a brilliant man, isn’t he?”
I don’t know how I keep smiling but I do. “Yes. Very brilliant.”
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then.”
“Uh, just… You can call me Tempest,” I tell her as she passes me by. “No need to be so formal.”
“Okay.” Then she grins. “Plus you aren’t going to be Miss Jackson much longer anyway, right? Your dad told me about your engagement. Congrats.”
I still keep smiling. “Thank you.”
Finally she’s gone and I enter the room, my smile dropping as I see my dad sitting on his throne-like chair, his eyes on his phone. He hasn’t bothered to put himself together like his secretary has. His hair — dark and so much like mine and my brother’s — is all mussed up and his tie is askew. I don’t even want to know what’s happening with the rest of his outfit, so thank God he’s sitting behind a large mahogany desk.
