Sweetheart

SWEETHEART THE MORGANS OF NEW YORK DEBORAH BLADON FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, 2023 Copyright © 2023 by Deborah Bladon All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental. eBook ISBN: 9781926440729 ISBN: 9798387444197 Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media deborahbladon.com CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Epilogue Addicted to Reading? Also by Deborah Bladon Thank You Join Deborah’s Mailing List About the Author CHAPTER ONE Sinclair “How many glasses of champagne are too many?” I can’t tell if the question my friend just asked is rhetorical, so I keep glancing around the crowded terrace. All I see are well-dressed people gathered here for the same reason. The movement of Molly’s hand draws my gaze back to her face. Her curly red hair is tucked behind her ears. Her blue eyes weren’t bloodshot when we met up two hours ago, but they are now. “Sinclair,” she bites my name out in a whisper shout. “How many glasses are too many?” She follows the question with a sip of the expensive champagne that she’s become incredibly fond of since we arrived at the wedding of two of our former classmates. I tilt my head. “How many have you had?” “Counting this one?” she asks before she finishes what’s left in the glass in a single gulp. I nod. “Yes. Counting the one you just downed.” “Three.” She taps the center of her forehead. “Silly me. I meant four.” I pluck the empty champagne flute from her fingers. “Three is one too many. Four is two too many.” A bright smile glides over her lips. “So five is three too many?” Molly Parkes is still as sweet as when we met in kindergarten. Our bond was forged in a sandpit on the school playground when she offered me half of a chocolate bar. That was twenty years ago. Although we don’t see each other as often as we’d like, it always feels like a homecoming when we get together in person. “Yes,” I answer with a nod. “I hope they serve dinner right after the ceremony.” “It’s a hope and a prayer from me because I am starving,” she enunciates both syllables of the last word. “I heard that the food at this place is heavenly.” I can attest to that. One of my brothers celebrated his wedding here, and the food was incredible. Howerton House has built a solid reputation as the premier venue for events in Manhattan. “You are going to score so hard tonight.” She bats her eyelashes. “Did I mention that your dress is hot as sin? Get it? Sin like your name and sin like really good sex.” She did mention that when we met outside her apartment building in Greenwich Village. I asked my cab driver to stop by Molly’s place to pick her up. She came bounding out of the lobby doors with the bottom hem of her green dress brushing against her knees. As soon as she caught sight of my light blue dress, the compliments came spilling out of her at breakneck speed. If I ever need an ego boost, Molly is my go-to. “I only came so I could toast to the happy couple.” I raise the empty glass in my hand in the air. “Can you believe Dwight and Donna are tying the knot today?” Molly’s head bobs up and down. “I one hundred percent believe it. I knew they were destined for each other in seventh grade.” I shoot her a glance. “You did?” “I clearly remember the first school dance we had that fall.” She twirls in a circle with her arms outstretched as if she’s about to launch into a waltz. “Dwight held out his hand to Donna. She took it, and they set the gym floor on fire with their fierce moves.” That’s not how I recall it at all. From what I remember, Dwight hopped into what looked like a jig while Donna held onto his wrists while barely moving in her effort to match the ballad that was playing. “All eyes were on you and Jameson at that dance too.” She winks. “Everyone was jealous because you looked like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers out there.” I doubt like hell that most of the people we went to school with even know who those silver screen gems are. I shake my head. “Jameson stepped on my toes more than once. He never apologized for that.” Or the dozens of other ways he hurt me. I considered Jameson Sheppard my best friend back then. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known Molly since Jameson’s mom and my mom met at a baby store. Jameson’s mom was on the hunt for a perfect crib for him. My mom pointed out the one she had just ordered for me, and the two pregnant women forged a bond over nursery furniture. I could always count on Jameson to have my back. I had his, too, until he asked me for a favor that would have completely changed the course of my life. I couldn’t do