Searching for Beautiful(19)
He was ten years old.
six
GENEVIEVE OPENED HER eyes.
Ugh. Blinking through crusty lashes, she groaned and rolled over tentatively. Her stomach gurgled with an emptiness that craved carbs, and her head felt like a bowling ball that had knocked out hundreds of pins. What happened? Where was David?
The memory made her head jerk painfully. Not a nightmare. It had really happened. She’d left David on the day of her wedding, at the altar, in front of hundreds of people. She was ruined. Her life was over. She was going to die.
The emotions wracked her body like the flu, causing tiny shivers and convulsions to break out. Why get up? She’d lie here under the covers until they discovered her rotting skeleton. Then everyone would cluck that she’d been mentally unstable anyway, and David had been saved a lifetime of pain. No one would ever remember her again. Except her sisters. And parents. Oh, and her friends. But that was it.
The door creaked. Gen refused to look up. No reason when she intended to commit suicide by not leaving the bed. Also, it hurt her head.
“Sweetheart? It’s almost eleven. You need to eat something.”
She mumbled into her pillow. “Gsh rway.”
Footsteps. His scent hit her nose, a clean twist of soap, coffee, and sunshine. “I’m not going away. And I’m not letting you sleep all day either. Come on, I have something planned, but first you need actual food and not Sno Balls. And a shower is mandatory.”
“Lrve me rawlone.”
The mattress dipped. She opened one eye.
His face was serious and determined. She knew then he wasn’t like her girlfriends and refused to let her languish in bed with a box of tissues, lamenting over her mental state and how her life was ruined. Men sucked. They were so action oriented, as if actually doing something productive helped. Which it wouldn’t. Was that coffee?
He spoke as if he heard her thoughts. “Yes, here’s your mug, and two aspirin for your head. I know you’re freaking, but this is my vacation, too, and I don’t want to spend it cooped up, sharing heart-to-hearts about our broken love lives.”
She sniffed. Managed to sit up an inch. “You don’t have a love life.”
“Right. Well, it’s my job to distract you for at least another twenty-four hours and then we’ll deal with the shitstorm at home. Deal?”
Every time she tried to think about what to do next, splitting pain like sharpened knives stabbed her brain. The tempting idea of playing the denial game for one more day was heaven. Tomorrow she’d have no choice but to contact everyone and begin putting back the pieces. Problem was, she had no clue what to do. If she spent the day with Wolfe, maybe she’d get an aha moment and be able to figure out what her next step was.
“I’m glad you agree. Now sit up, take your pills, and come eat.”
She took a sip of the strong, hot brew. “What’s for breakfast? Pancakes? Omelet? French toast?”
He rolled his eyes. “Cereal, Gen.”
“But you bought eggs!”
“For hard-boiled. Maybe. You know I suck at cooking.”
“You lived with Julietta, who made homemade pasta and sauce and those delicious sausages and meatballs. You told me you were focusing on learning her trade secrets.”
“I lied. I’m rich enough to get takeout.”
She gave a long sigh. “I’m disappointed in you. And I swear, if I see you smoke again, I’m calling her.”
He glowered at her. “Some friend you are. I quit, okay? It was just one slipup.”
Gen popped the aspirin into her mouth and swallowed. “Fine. You know how many cases we get at the hospital for lung cancer? Throat cancer? How about living without a tongue or a voice box and having to speak with a machine?”
He turned a shade pale. “You know I hate hearing stuff like that—cut it out.”
She puffed up with importance. “It’s my job to make you aware of the consequences of bad choices.”
“You’re a real Debbie Downer.”
She jumped in and imitated the old Saturday Night Live skit. “Whaa, whaa, whaa.”
They both cracked up. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Rice Krispies or Frosted Flakes?”
“Tony the Tiger, please.”
“You got it. Don’t be too long, I have a full day planned.”
He left. Gen grumbled under her breath, but as she sipped her coffee, she realized that when she was arguing with Wolfe, she wasn’t thinking about anything bad. He had this amazing ability to be real with her, yet not let her wallow. He listened, but he didn’t judge. He pushed, but never insulted. And damn, he was the best kisser she ever—
The thought broke off. Oh no. She had kissed her best friend last night. Or, he’d kissed her. The memory was a bit misty, but her body remembered the touch of those lips resting on hers, the writhing sexual heat that claimed her, the gorgeous press of his hips and erection against her core.