Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Among other things . . .
“Oh yeah?” I take another drink, swallowing the warm, velvety liquid. “I have to admit, we were only together half a year before we moved here. And he passed two months after that. Sometimes I think about all the things I’ll never have a chance to learn about him. What was he like in his younger days?”
Her eyes light and she leans in, as if the topic of Donovan excites her. “Oh, girl. I can tell you all about him if you want?”
Yes . . . I very much want to learn all about him . . .
“Donovan was my first love,” she starts, unable to remove the wistful smile from her lips. “We met when I was a sophomore in high school and he was a senior. His brother, Lachlan, was actually in my class, but Donovan was more my type, you know? He had this . . . aura. This sure-footed confidence. And every time he walked into the room, he commanded attention without even trying.” Berlin pauses, glancing out at the parking lot. “He had this car . . . a black vintage Firebird. He loved it so much sometimes I got jealous of it. She was always like the other woman, you know?” She chuckles. “Anyway, his dad bought it for him for his sixteenth birthday, and it meant the world to him. They were always working on it together, adding things, modifying it, fixing it up. His dad was a little rough around the edges. Quiet. Not very affectionate. But I always thought the car was his way of telling Don he loved him. That and he loved the attention it brought him. Everywhere he went in that thing, he turned heads.”
I think of the Aston Martin Donovan claimed to be restoring when we first met. He told me it was in storage back home, but as soon as we started working on the house, he said he was putting the project on hold so he could focus on one thing at a time. He never did show me the car. Now I’m inclined to believe it never existed.
“He always spoke fondly of his father,” I say. “I’ve only ever seen him in photographs.”
“I’m told he wasn’t always so . . . gruff,” she says carefully. “Don said after their mom died, their dad was never the same.”
“He never told me how his mom passed,” I say, hoping she fills in the blanks. He only told me she’d died unexpectedly when he was eleven. Like with everything else, I always thought we had more time, and I saved the conversation for another day.
Berlin glances to the side, gathering in a long breath as she squints. “Yeah. He never liked to talk about it. There were a lot of rumors; I know that. All he ever said was there was a terrible accident in the house, but he’d never elaborate, and I never pushed it because it always seemed to upset him, talking about her.”
My stomach drops, and my thoughts immediately move to Lachlan.
Is that why he wants to burn the house down?
“Let’s see, what else can I tell you . . .” She twists her lips to the side, moving on. “He was very particular about how he dressed. He took a lot of pride in his appearance. When most guys his age would roll out of bed in yesterday’s jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, he would wear starched button-downs and slacks. Never had a hair out of place. Always smelled like a million bucks. Sometimes he liked to pick out the clothes I wore when we went out. Or he’d tell me to wear my hair a certain way. He said we were a package deal, and he liked it when our looks coordinated.”
I think back to the night he proposed in Chicago. We had dinner reservations at our favorite restaurant, and I slipped into an emerald-green bandage dress with red Louboutin pumps, but when I came out of the bathroom, he’d laid a little black dress on the bed alongside a pair of black heels. At the time, I was thrown off balance, until he pulled me into his arms, gave me a soft kiss, and sweetly told me it was his favorite look of mine.
I changed, thinking nothing of it.
Besides, I was so enraptured by Donovan that I lived to put a smile on his face any chance I got.
“He was extremely romantic,” Berlin continues. “A modern-day Casanova. He was always buying me flowers—white roses mostly. At school, he’d leave me sweet little notes in my locker. He was always planning elaborate dates, and he liked to choose what we did, so all I had to do was show up and leave the rest to him. On my sixteenth birthday, he rented a limousine and took me on an elaborate scavenger hunt around town. Every stop had a present waiting for me.”