Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
The competition was fierce, and I should be forever grateful he even looked twice at a girl like me, which I was—trust me, I was—but at the moment I needed oxygen more than gratitude. I shoved him again, disentangling his roped limbs from my overheated body, and his grip tightened.
“Hale, I can’t breathe.” He clung to me like an octopus trying to crack open a clam. “You’re a thousand degrees.”
I needed water. Preferably a hose.
The lashes of my eyes seemed glued shut with some sort of expired horse paste. He cinched our bodies tighter, the length of Prince Everhard—a.k.a. his porn-tastic dick—wedged against the crevice of my ass cheeks. Morning sex was fun and all, but my head throbbed with what could only be the post-effects of a lobotomy gone wrong, so there would be no bumping stinkies this morning.
I mentally and physically prepared to shove his deadweight off me.
One… This was going to hurt.
Two… Just do it. Water would make everything better.
Three—
I flung Hale and the covers off and gasped for air. The revolting stench akin to post-Mardi Gras dumpster juice wafted in the air and I gagged. Dear God, was that me?
This was bad.
Prying apart my abused eyelashes, I blinked as the bleached sky blared through the large hotel window and blinded me. Glimpses of furniture filled my blurred vision as stark silhouettes came into view.
I stilled. Not my window. Not my hotel room.
“The fuck…?” Jackknifing upright, I immediately winced and fought the urge to hurl. Too fast. Way too fast.
My brain shook like a rattle and worked to retrace my steps, but I had no memory of coming here. Palming my face helped stave off the urge to hurl.
“Hale…?” I blindly nudged the lump of blankets to my left. Talking hurt.
What the hell did we do last night? I massaged my forehead, trying to dislodge what could only be the dull blade of a rusted hacksaw wedged between my eyes.
The slightest movement reverberated like a gong in my skull. Was I in a car accident? Maybe a bulldozer ran me over six or seven times. Every vertebra of my spine twitched as shards of pain raced down my legs into the soles of my feet.
Right on cue, my mouth began to water. I pressed the back of my fist to my lips and moaned. “Hale—” I hiccupped, my shoulders locking.
Any lesser woman would be rushing to the toilet but I was too off balance to walk.
“Hale.” I shook the hard lump of blankets, desperately needing assistance—and probably a new liver.
My knight in shining armor typically took care of me whenever I got banged up. And I was currently dealing with an unparalleled hangover, so why wasn’t he jumping into action? Where was my glass of water and magical hangover pills?
A wave of vom-chills hit. I heaved vocally, shivering as a cool sweat beaded across my skin. I was burning cold, visually impaired, and dealing with some sort of full-body brain injury that started in my toes.
“Babe?”
My comatose fiancé didn’t respond like his usual, plucky, early bird gets the billion-dollar deal, Prince Charming self.
This had to be alcohol poisoning.
Everything felt…puffy and sore. My bones had a literal heartbeat. Even my fingernails were throbbing. I gave up my fight against gravity and collapsed back onto the bed.
So much for my anti-inflammatory, anti-alcohol, anti-everything diet before the wedding. This level of hangover was definitely going to show up on my face. Not good for my bride-to-be skincare regimen.
Those rules were unrealistic anyway. Just a few more days and everyone would stop obsessing about what I ate, drank, put on my skin, did to my hair, or wore on my body. I never realized how magnified a bride’s life became once she accepted the ring, especially the ring from one of the world’s most desirable billionaire bachelors.
The worst part about my elevated exposure in the public eye was how isolated and alone the attention actually made me feel. Even the ordinary people I once considered my closest friends started to treat me differently.
A year ago I was nobody. A waitress with two friends, living with her mom, and working in a corner pub situated on a forgettable street in Oregon. Today, I was someone I didn’t recognize. But I was still me. Only now I was with Hale.
I loved Hale and had no regrets about agreeing to marry him but, truth be told, I was still processing my shock that he asked. I was also still learning what being married to a man of his stature would truly entail.
As it turned out, the role of billionaire bride-to-be was a rather singular, lonely position targeted by envy-induced criticism, painful comparisons, and endless disapproval from all angles. Hale was the silver lining, the end all be all of this shit show of a publicity smear.