How Sweet It Is Read Online Free PDF

which, except that her mother never got sick.
    Usually Tuesday night drinks with her sisters made her mother happier, but Chloe had been at Charles’s last night so she hadn’t been able to check.
    One thing was certain: Something wasn’t right.
    Chloe wanted to think it out in writing, in her journal, but putting her fears onto paper would make them real, and she didn’t want that. Viola was just going through a phase. She’d looked it up online. She knew divorce was supposed to be hard on the children, but the day her parents had told her they were getting a divorce a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
    Her mother wasn’t taking it well though. Who would, if the guy you were into decided to see someone else?
    She thought about Hunter Vicks. She pictured him holding someone else’s hand, like Shelby Castleton’s. Hunter Vicks wasn’t even her boyfriend and still the feeling was awful. How could it be for her mother?
    Still, Viola was a mother . She was supposed to pay attention. She used to know when Chloe needed her.
    “Are you coming, Chloe?”
    She blinked and looked up. They were parked in front of his new building.
    Charles was already out of the car, impatience turning his mouth down. “Pay attention, Chloe. And hurry up. I have a conference call I have to make. I already had to reschedule it to pick you up.”
    “Sorry I’m such an inconvenience,” she mumbled under her breath as she scooted out of the car.
    “What did you say?” he asked loudly, slamming the door shut.
    “Nothing.” She hiked her bag onto her shoulder.
    Shaking his head, he strode ahead of her.
    Sighing, she hurried after him, wondering why he spent any time with her when she obviously annoyed him so much.

Chapter Four
    Finn couldn’t have painted a better caricature of a museum curator. If he judged Abigail Potter by her clothing, he’d have thought she was an old country squire in drag. She wore tweed, head to toe, complete with an argyle vest. Her hair was matronly, a thin short blond bob that angled at her square jaw. Her ankles were thick, her eyes were watery, and her voice was so shrill that he had to stand a few feet away from her to avoid having his eardrums pierced.
    “It’s just terrible,” she said for the hundredth time since he’d met her ten minutes before. She hurried through the corridors of Westminster Abbey, expecting him to follow. “I can’t believe this has happened. To King Edward’s Chair, too!”
    Finn hummed sympathetically because it seemed the polite thing to do. “What has happened, precisely?” he asked for the ninety-ninth time.
    “I’m glad you could come so quickly.” She worried the buttons on her suit coat as she bustled along. “An absolute tragedy.”
    When a curator was faced with a problem it was always a tragedy. Exhaling, he told himself to be patient and follow her. She wasn’t going to give him any details until they arrived wherever it was they were going.
    She led him through long, nondescript hallways, into the bowels of the museum. If she’d looked more like a mad scientist, he’d have worried that she was taking him to a laboratory to do strange experiments on him.
    Finally, she stopped and swiped her badge against a pad. The door clicked unlocked, and she pushed it open. “I hope you’re prepared for the horror of this.”
    “I’ll try to cope,” he murmured.
    Inhaling as though gathering her courage, she swung the door open and led the way in. She turned on the room’s lights.
    It wasn’t a typical restoration room. There were no tools, no tables, no solvents or any other solutions and equipment. The only thing in the room was one worn chair on a short pedestal in the middle.
    The curator flipped another switch and a spotlight lit the relic. “The Coronation Chair,” she said in hushed awe.
    Finn strode toward it, taking it in as a whole. Potter was rightfully awed—the chair was magnificent. High-backed and regal, gothic in style, with four