Do Us Part (The Dumont Diaries (#4)) by Alessandra Torre Read Free Book Online Page A

bursting-at-the-seams bank account, but just barely. I feel guilt when I look at the balance.
    Maybe I will get on my feet, get a job, and pay it all back. Send him a check for a cool four and a half million. Maybe. I’m not altruistic enough to commit to that just yet. There is the matter of my broken heart, and what that is worth in severance pay.
    I haven’t heard a word from Nathan since our appointment at Dr. Bejanti’s office. No letter from Drew, no call from his attorney. I’ve stopped looking at the gossip magazines, forbid myself to Google his name or scroll through the internet for pictures of them together. It is too painful to see them, too hurtful to know that they are happy and I am miserable.
    I half-expected another psychiatry session to be required, given the disastrous conclusion of our group session. But no one has called, and no letters have come. Something should come soon. Our marriage’s death is imminent.
    Dad is doing great. They have discovered his ailment, a rare blood disease that was killing his immune system and affecting his body’s ability to heal. There is a treatment, and he is in the second week of the new medication. Just this morning I reserved an apartment for him on the ground floor of my building. It seems a little premature, and I worry about jinxing his progress, but I want to be ready when he is released. I want to have a place that is set up for him to be independent, yet still close to me. Pam has already set me up with an at-home nurse, one who can help him once he leaves Crestridge.
    Today is a quiet day. Dad has slept most of the morning, and I have read. It’s lasagna day in the cafeteria, and I am watching the clock for 11:30 a.m., which is the earliest time I can get a slice of deliciousness.
    My head nods, the words on my book blurring, and I lean back in the chair, curling my legs underneath me, and close my eyes briefly. Just a quick nap, long enough to tide me the twenty-two minutes until lasagna time. Twenty-two …
    Peace.

    I drive home, noticing a Help Wanted sign in the window of a local bookstore. I will need, once Dad fully recovers, a job. Something to keep my mind off of dark blue eyes and soft lips. Maybe I’ll work there, or maybe the job market has opened up enough that I can put my event-planning degree to actual use.
    I take the long way home, driving along the ocean, rolling down the windows so that the smell of suntan and sand fills my car. Then I slow, turning onto the road that leads to my complex, coming to a sudden and sharp stop when I see the black Range Rover parked on the street, and the man that is leaning against its hood.
    I stare at him through the windshield, watching as he straightens, looking at me, our eyes catching over fifty feet of broken blacktop. My foot wavers on the brake, my brain arguing with my heart, arguing with my instinct, my foot caught in a tug-of-war between the two. I put it out of its misery and put the car into park, opening the door and getting out in the middle of the street.
    He is so handsome it should be a sin. Standing tall, his hair messy, a loosened tie gaping over a white shirt and dark dress pants, his tan skin pulls the entire look together too effortlessly. His stature and manner reek of the casual perfection brought on by decades of wealth and breeding. He moves away from the car, stepping toward me, and I hold up a shaky hand. “Stop.”
    I cannot take him any closer. Cannot have those lips coming into focus, not now that I know what they can do to me. Tearing down my walls and invading my heart, they will leave me gasping, tearful, and alone, while he returns to her. “What are you doing here, Nathan?”
    He shoves his hands into his pockets, and stops, tilting his head. “I need to speak to you.” His voice grumbles, a gravelly, deep sound that makes me wet and has me clenching my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for him.
    “Why?”
    He steps forward, closer, his eyes on mine,