My anger spikes as memories of constant beratement flood to the forefront of my mind.
My skin crawls.
A sheen of sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I realize if I don’t remove myself from the situation, I might cause a scene.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “Don’t break your back trying to show off.”
I start to move away when Pa grabs my wrist and stills me.
I’m two inches taller than his six-foot stature. His peppered, gray hair is no match to my dark locks. But his eyes, a sinister, deep mahogany, match mine with such precision that when I look in the mirror in the morning, I see him. And that depresses me.
“It’s not too late,” Pa whispers as our shoulders brush against each other, me facing one direction, him facing the other. “Iris hasn’t moved on. I can speak with her father. We can settle the arrangement and act as if you needed to sow your wild oats before committing. We can get the PR team to make a spin of it. You don’t have to be the embarrassment you became by moving to America to be a godforsaken schoolteacher.”
“I don’t love Iris,” I say.
“You’ll never love anyone other than yourself. Unfortunately for me, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Commitment isn’t in your blood.” His eyes focus on mine. “But putting on the show of a long-lasting marriage, doing the duty of a Greyson, now that should be in your blood, and if it takes me until my last breath to prove that to you, then I will.”
“I’m not you,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Isn’t that obvious? If you were, you’d be with Iris instead of breaking the poor girl’s heart. You’d be helping this family by bringing our business dealings closer to our families.” He lets go of my wrist and then pushes away when he sees a future business partner he needs to suck up to.
When Pa is gone, Cleat walks up to me and places his hand on my shoulder. “I love a good father-son moment. That was beautiful.”
Shoving away from Cleat, I say, “Piss off.” I despise every molecule of both men. Hate their bootlicking ways, their soulless attitudes. Utter scum. Then I pull out my mobile and dial Killian. He’s about to get an earful.
Chapter Two
CORA
“Cora, just a friendly reminder, don’t bend over in that dress,” Greer says as we walk, arms linked, through the bustling casino of the Aria hotel. “Your brother told me to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid while we’re here. Bending over in that dress would most definitely be stupid.”
I smirk.
Yes. Yes, it would be stupid, since it barely covers my backside. When I was shopping for this divorce-cation, I spotted the color of this dress first—a rich emerald-green with a beautiful sheen that I knew would stand out against the lights of the Las Vegas strip. When I pulled it off the rack and saw just how slutty it was, I knew it was a winner. Keiko claimed it was a scarf, not believing it was anything but neckwear as she held it up and tried to decipher where a body was supposed to fit into it.
Maybe it took me a few seconds to figure it out myself, but now that it’s on, I wouldn’t want to wear anything else. It has a deep V-neck in the front, almost to my navel, and there’s no chance of a bra working with this dress, so I wore subtle dress tape to keep it from exposing my boobs, especially since it’s backless as well, showing off my skin from the top of my shoulders all the way to the top curve of my ass.
Hmm . . . maybe it is a scarf.
But guess what—I don’t care!
Because I am single.
Finally out of a bad marriage, it’s time for me to live my life. And I’m going to do just that.
“If I need to bend over, I’ll just ask you to help.” I squeeze her arm with mine.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought my brother, Arlo, the surly and agitated cardigan-wearing English teacher would ever find love, but I’m so glad he did. Greer is amazing. It’s hard not to fall in love with her, and now that she’s part of our small family, I couldn’t be happier to have a sister at my side. Even if she has overprotective tendencies thanks to my brother, who tends to suffocate me, especially at the beginning of my divorce when I was living with him.
“Why didn’t we designate a buffet for food respite?” Keiko asks, looking annoyed, acting grouchy, and totally bringing down the mood.
“I am not going to a buffet to celebrate my divorce.”
“But you claim to want to, in your words, ‘slurp noodles off a naked man’s chest’ this evening.”