Free Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3) by Addison Moore Page A

other.
    “I think this is where we should deviate.” She hitches a dark thread of hair behind her ear. Kennedy has unbelievably thick ebony hair. I would say black, but that word doesn’t do the depth of the hue any justice. It falls down her pale, bisque skin like midnight, each strand a purveyor of its very own secret. And I do believe Kennedy has them. I believe she is rife with undisclosed tidbits she’s not willing to part with.
    “I think you’re right.” I happily agree. “Really all that’s left is your mouth over mine.” My finger traces over her lips like writing a poem in thin air. I pull back almost unwilling to stop myself. “Let’s do this the right way. Tell me about your family.”
    “Mama, papa, me and sis, the end.”
    Her knees pull up on the couch as she picks up my hands voluntarily, and something in me releases. That knot that has been rolling around in my stomach ever since I came into town begins the slow process of detangling. It doesn’t feel safe to release just yet, and I’m not sure why my body is throwing out the warning.
    “There’s more to the story.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Your father is Peter Slade.” My brows rise in morbid salute to the fact.
    “That’s right—Peter Slade, champion of the downtrodden, cheating, wife beating, wife-killing-and-disposing-of-their-body husbands. He’s a real superhero among the slime balls of the world. I’m betting not so much among the beaten, cheated on, dead wives. My own mother included.”
    “Mmm.” I flinch at her words. I knew it probably wasn’t a rosy picture since her parents were divorced. “I’m sorry. How is your mom doing now?”
    “Married. Happy is always a point of contention, so I won’t put words in her mouth, but Chuck is a nice guy. He’s your boss, you should know. So how about your family? What makes the South Luxemburg branch of the McCarthy family tree tick?”
    “Not a lot these days. My parents are divorced as well. My mother”—I pause taking in my mother’s tragic reality and how I might convey this delicately—“she’s alone now. My father is busy with his practice. He, however, is not alone. He’s peppered himself with blondes and brunettes of all shapes and sizes. He’s an equal opportunity womanizer, and, believe me, there is a line around the block of single, mostly single, divorced, widowed, never-been-married forty something’s waiting for a turn on the McCarthy express.”
    “McCarthy express?” Her eyes widen as a light laugh bubbles from her throat. I’m glad I made her laugh, shifted her sour mood into something more affable, especially at the expense of my louse of a father. “Sounds like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I saw all those girls eyeing you at Warren’s party.” She gives a sad nod. “You’re a lady’s man yourself.”
    “I’m not anything like my father.” A ripe fire of indignation rips through me at the comparison. “You mentioned a sister?” It’s hard for me to believe these conversations never took place years ago, although, in our defense, it’s difficult to get a decent word in while we diligently explored one another’s mouths.
    “One sister—one stepsister. Kamryn is just like me but not as smart and not nearly as nice.” Her brow hikes up one side as if those very sarcastic words were meant to seduce me. Mission accomplished. “She sided with my father in the great divide. Enter Reese Waterman—née Westfield. She’s all about her hubby, Ace, these days; in fact, she is Mrs. Ace Waterman. Things have a way of falling into place for people like Reese.” She smacks her lips as her affect falls flat for a moment. “She’s a good person. Too good sometimes, but I can’t fault her for that. My mother technically didn’t raise her.” She pulls her fingers quickly from mine as if she were about to get singed. “She raised me .” There’s an exclamation in her tone, an odd punctuation, and it makes me wonder why.