Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
And yet, it isn’t the most luxurious property I’ve ever spent the weekend at.
Trent Waterford is in line to inherit it all, and that not only digs under my skin, but it drives me forward.
Staff mill about, mostly tending to different needs. Watering the plants on windowsills, changing out lightbulbs, and setting the table for dinner. No one gives me a second glance the farther I make my way through the property. It’s as if I already belong. I walk around like I do.
The clock strikes three p.m. when I find my girlfriend’s fake boyfriend outside.
“You’re early,” Jake tells me as he slams a tennis ball into the net. Before he approaches me, he fixes his attention on the gray-haired instructor on the other side of the grass court. “Stephen. Thanks for running me ragged with that backhand, old man.”
Stephen laughs. “Not ragged enough.” He hugs Jake over the net.
“Congrats again on grandchild number three,” Jake says quietly, patting his instructor’s back with warm familiarity. “Let Lydia know she’s welcome to use the pool house for the baby shower.”
I can’t hear the instructor’s response, but it’s clear he appreciates Jake’s generosity and benevolence. While collecting scattered tennis balls, Stephen peers over at me with a more guarded expression.
On a property brimming with staff, I’m not known as the ex-husband of Jake’s current girlfriend. I am the best, best friend of Trent Koning Waterford.
Niall, the family butler, has given me an arctic breeze ever since we met. His icy disposition is shared among the staff.
It’s clear which son they favor.
The tennis instructor heads toward the carriage house, which lies closest in proximity to the main house, and I step onto the grass court.
“Trent told me to come whenever,” I explain. “Perks of being besties with your big brother. I get an open invitation.” I wear a dry smile and toss Jake a gold-embroidered towel hanging over a bench.
“A perk I could’ve given you.” He rubs at the sweat along his temples and neck.
“And then I’d have to decline your invite. Your brother would bust a blood vessel if his closest friend ditched him for the brother he just loves so very much.”
“Point taken.” Jake nods, then studies my white-and-blue collegiate sweatshirt. Columbia is stitched on the chest. He knows it’s all just a stage show. A prop. My wardrobe.
“It’s my alma mater,” I remind him casually.
“Got it,” he says, but his blue eyes also tell me, I’m not blowing your cover. I didn’t think he would. We’ve been knee-deep in this together for long enough that I do trust him.
Trust.
That word rolls over in my head. I’m surprised by myself that I’ve become capable of letting someone else in this deep. But here we are.
I watch a petrel fly over the court and toward the pool. “Hailey and Phoebe will be here in a couple hours.” I squint out into the sun. From here, the sea laps against the rocky ridgeline of the coast, and farther out, the Salty Miss is moored with other sailing vessels. Gently swaying with the ripple of the water.
Nova should be aboard. Our getaway. I imagine he’s behind the nav table and watching the waves roll, probably obsessing over different worst-case scenarios where he’ll have to drive the dinghy to shore so we can all make a quick escape.
I hope we don’t need him tonight.
Jake and I start walking back to the main house, and my nerves are at high tide as I wait for Phoebe’s arrival and likely for Trent to come steal me away. We pass the entrance to a hedged garden, and Jake asks, “Did Niall show you your room yet?”
“I assumed I’d be staying in my usual one.”
“The toilet’s not working. You’re being moved to the east wing.”
“I was not informed,” I say without much surprise. I’m sure Niall would’ve loved if I had to unclog a toilet all night.
Jake opens the back door himself, even though there’s staff waiting in the wings to do it for him. “I’ll lead the way,” he says.
My new guest room is on the third floor. It has dark oak-trim windows, a four-poster bed, toile wallpaper, and a bookshelf full of works by Jane Austen. Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Persuasion, Northanger Abbey, and Mansfield Park. There must be dozens of different editions of each title, from leatherbound to more modern cover art.
“I’m guessing this is your collection,” I say to Jake. “You being the bookworm and all.”
“Those were Kate’s actually.” He opens the thick champagne-colored drapes, a stray ray of light seeping through. He fastens the drape with a thick roped tieback. “She begged me to read Austen, then Nora Roberts, and she started my obsession with J. D. Robb.” He glances over at me. “Did Hailey ever try to get you to read her favorites?”