person feel like they’re sixty.
Serenity scowled at her friend’s reply. She had explicitly warned her newly married friend not to mention the Dutch billionaire’s name.
Serenity: That is below the belt, and especially for someone who should be a respectable figure of society, considering your marriage to Stavros Manolis.
Willow: Wow. You could have just said you’re still heartbroken.
Her fingers froze over the screen at Willow’s reply, and Serenity wondered gloomily why her only friend had to be someone as tactless as the former Willow Somerset, now Mrs. Manolis since she married one of the most powerful Greek billionaires in the world.
But rude or not, Willow was right.
It had been six days since the last time she had seen the Dutch billionaire. Six long days, made more dreadful by the way she couldn’t stop herself from waiting for his text or call, which came at the most unpredictable times.
Monday, he had only sent her a text at nine in the morning, when it had become obvious she wasn’t bowing to his orders. Tuesday, he had called and sent her a message just as she was getting to bed and had given up on hearing from him again. Wednesday, she woke up to his message. Thursday, he had left her a voice call while she was in the shower – a fifteen-second message that she had listened to about fifty times now.
But last night, there had been no message, no voice call, no anything.
It left her torn between confusion and relief, love and despair.
Serenity: I’m okay.
If she said it enough times, maybe it would come true.
Willow: If you’re okay, then why can’t you make yourself talk to him? You need closure. You both do.
Serenity: Only people in love need closure.
She winced as soon as she hit Send. Way to go, Serenity. You are officially Little Miss Bitter.
Willow: You’re saying he doesn’t love you?
Serenity: He never did.
Just typing the words hurt, and she had to bite her lip hard to stop it from trembling. To distract herself, she stared blindly at the picturesque scenery outside the expansive windows of ODA. This side of the building faced the port, which afforded them tranquil views of sailboats traversing the city’s dark blue waters.
These days, most of her time was spent in the library, with Serenity finding it a safe haven from Melanie’s constant harping about money as well as Shane’s continuous gushing about Willem and how she was absolutely sure he’d propose to her in the future.
The first night following the billionaire’s visit, Shane had shared with them her rosy visions of the future. It had made Serenity want to puke, with the way Shane kept saying his name. Willem, Willem, Willem. It had made Serenity want to alternately cover her ears and scream. Willem was hers. She had wanted so much to tell her sister that.
But she didn’t.
Because it wasn’t true.
Even so, the urge hadn’t gone away, and Serenity had eventually found herself escaping to the library, staying there until its doors closed for the day. After, she would cycle up and down the canals, pedaling until she was bone tired, and going home only when she was no longer able to keep her eyelids open.
It was a good strategy to avoid speaking with either Melanie or Shane, but it had not worked at all in keeping Willem out of the picture.
Wherever she went, she saw Willem.
Whatever she did, she thought of Willem.
And no matter how much she prayed, she felt Willem – inside her, owning half of her heart.
Willow: I’m here for you, okay? I know I’m not good at comforting, but you should know that I’m the last person to judge you, with what you’re going through right now.
The message made Serenity press her fingers to her eyes, the need to confide making her want to cry. But how could she burden Willow with the truth when even she knew what was right?
Shane had met Willem de Konigh first, had slept with him, and knew him in ways that Serenity didn’t.
She,
Yvette Hines, Monique Lamont