Unraveled by Her by Wendy Leigh Read Free Book Online Page B

brush my hair, in long, slow, hypnotic strokes. I sit there and battle hard with myself not to rip the hairbrush out of her hand and stuff it down her throat.
    I tense all over. At the same time, I can’t help but notice the initials GH engraved on the handle and grip my whiskey glass so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
    I thought I’d far transcended my jealousy of Georgiana, after Robert told me the shocking truth about her. But the emotion I’m experiencing now is far worse than jealousy. For I’m not torturing myself about his imaginary passion for Georgiana anymore, but about a stark reality: she is married to him and she now wants to win him back.
    But surely she doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of achieving her crackpot goal? Robert will never take her back, not in a million years. Unless, of course, he actually believes the lying words of that monstrous letter, the letter in which I was forced to confess to him that I am a cheat and that I never loved him at all.
    I feel myself plunge into despair.
    â€œIn any event, cupcake, writing my autobiography will be enormous fun. For both of us,” she says, and I want to scream in anger and frustration.
    Fun? How in hell can it be fun for me to be forced to ghost an autobiography for my worst enemy, an enemy who wants to use that autobiography as a weapon, a weapon that could lure Robert back to her again?
    The truth is that I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I ghost her autobiography with my customary passion and dedication, there’s a strong chance that Robert will read it and be captivated by her all over again, just as she dreams he will.
    My mind is reeling at the same time that my heart is breaking.
    â€œBut given that this is our first day working together on my book, I’ve made the decision to allow you a short respite before we start in earnest. In a few moments, I shall be showing you an important movie that will provide you with a sense of the rationale behind the prologue with which I wish you to commence my autobiography,” she says. Not for the first time, I wish that the bitch could speak in plain American. Because I really don’t know what the fuck she means.
    I soon find out.

    I can’t believe this isn’t a dream—well, a nightmare. I’m sitting on a couch, my left leg chained to it, with Georgiana and Tamara on either side of me, their bodies pressed uncomfortably close to mine, and we are about to watch a movie together.
    I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
    â€œThis is the best movie in the universe, Miranda, and the perfect example of how I expect you to begin my autobiography. An anatomy of love at first sight,” Georgiana declares.
    Love at first sight? Is she kidding herself? She and Robert met at Le Château, and her only motive was to rob him of his fortune. I guess she’s even more cuckoo than I first thought she was.
    â€œBy rights, you ought to enjoy a romantic French movie, but I do hope that your enjoyment of this one won’t be tarnished upon hearing the dialogue spoken in Gigi’s tongue now that you know the part she played in your undoing. However, the main thing is that you understand the parallels between the movie’s story and my own with Robert,” she says.
    â€œBut she oughta like it, because she’s got that off-the-wall French nickname, ‘SeeElle’ or something,” Tamara cuts in helpfully, and I have to force myself not to grab the silver hairbrush and hit her over the head with it.
    But much as I’d love to, I know that even if I did manage to attack one witch, the other would still be alive and cackling.
    Aside from that, I still don’t have a clue how to get out of here, off the island and to safety. For the millionth time, I wish to God that I knew how to swim.
    But I don’t. So I lean back on the couch and try to resign myself to my residency in a lunatic asylum.