We use cookies
When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Your cookies settings
Strictly cookie settingsAlways Active
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 17 About an hour later, Camille unlocked her apartment door, coming in just as Meme was going out. Her grandmother was dressed for a night on the town in another tiny, hippie-ish tunic, dangly earrings, and a pair of platform sandals. My platform sandals, Camille realized, tossing her house keys into their dish. Meme frowned. “I thought you were gone for the night.” “Plans changed.” “Really? Why? You look terrible and you’ve been out with Why Not. You should be smiling.” Terrible? Camille glanced at her reflection in the antique mirror she’d hung above her console table and blanched. She did look terrible: her hair had gone full Medusa-snakes thanks to the humidity and her eyes were red from crying. Over Wyatt, she thought, shame warring with a fresh onslaught of tears. She
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD
