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)
“You think I should leave my feelings out of my marriage?” Of course, Remington would approach this like a business acquisition.
“Not the marriage. The engagement. They’re two different things.”
“But I’m a bride. Brides are supposed to love this experience.”
“Why, because a catalog trying to sell veils and wedding bands says so? Don’t be so damn impressionable. They’re marketing so women in your situation feel pressured to think that way. It’s an advertising scheme—a lucrative one. You should feel proud that you’re not falling for the hype. It shows independent thinking and a sign of intelligence. Maybe even a sign that you truly love my son. Plenty of women get married to the wrong man simply because they want the fancy dress and big party.”
“I just want to make him proud.”
Remington sighed. “Meyers, if you’re asking for relationship advice where nothing goes wrong, I’m afraid, even I, can’t buy you that sort of assurance. This is marriage. It’s a manic institution where the highs are euphoric and the lows can be as gory as enemy lines on the battlefield of the most brutal wars. Trust me, I’ve had five marriages and my current situation is by far the easiest.”
I scoffed. “You never even see her.”
“Exactly. Just the way I like it. Help me up.”
I stood to offer him a hand, but when I retrieved his cane he waved it away.
I followed as he slowly wobbled into the dining room, heading straight for the bar. “I’d prefer to avoid the battlefield.”
“If that’s true, I feel bad for you. A peaceful marriage is a passionless one. I had one of those with Barrett’s mother. Bored me out of my mind and right into Seraphina’s mother’s bed. Nothing wrong with a little fighting. It adds some heat.”
I thought about the arguments Hale and I had. There had been some doozies. “We only fight when Hale gets jealous.”
Remington chuckled.
When he reached the bar, he gripped the ledge and caught his breath, more winded than usual. I retrieved a bottle of water from the mini fridge and uncapped it. “Here.”
He took a sip and sighed, shifting his body onto a stool. “I don’t know if Hale’s capable of real trust anymore, and I’m sorry for that.”
He should be sorry. He was responsible for his son’s trust issues. “I’m not interested in anyone but Hale.”
“You’re young.”
“I love him, Remington. I wouldn’t marry Hale if I didn’t plan to spend the rest of my life with him. I plan to take my marriage vows very seriously.”
He studied me for a long moment then nodded. If he had any reservations about my loyalty to his son, he kept them to himself.
“Look, Hale loves you. He knows who you are and he knows what you’re not. A wedding is just one day. If you’re lucky—or unlucky—your marriage will last the rest of your life. I hope you both get what you want out of the deal.”
I hated that he referred to my marriage as a deal.
He handed me a brass shaker. “Fill this with ice.”
I scooped several cubes from the hidden freezer into the cup. Remington topped it off with a heavy-handed pour of Straka and added a dash of something from a decanter.
“Hand me two martini glasses.”
“Oh, I’m okay—”
“Do as I say.” He shook the mixer making too much noise for me to argue again.
I slid him two glasses that had been chilling in the freezer and watched as he poured. The vodka was cloudy and the surface shimmered with slender ice chips.
“There’s cheese in the fridge. And get me the olives.”
My stomach turned as I located the container of aged blue cheese and the jar of Spanish Queens soaking in brine that he had shipped in from Southern Europe each month. He skewered the olives on a silver pick.
Frowning at the slight tremble in his fingers, I wondered if he was taking the right dosage of his medicine. Since the heart attack, Remington was on blood thinners and several other drugs that could cause tremors. I preferred to think of his shakes as a side effect that could be corrected rather than a symptom of old age. I also intentionally ignored the darkening liver stains on his hands. In my mind, Remington was going to live forever. He had to. That was the only way he’d have time to eventually make amends with his kids.
“Here.” He plopped a chunk of cheese into the glasses and slid one very dirty martini in front of me. “It’ll put some hair on your chest.”
“Oh, good. That’ll go great with my wedding gown.”
“Which I bet you haven’t even purchased yet.”
I twisted my lips, confirming his suspicions, and lifted my glass to take a sip. “Here’s to passion without pain.”
He chuckled. “Cheers.”
The cold, briny concoction went down the hatch like a sword on fire. “Zoiks!” I wheezed and sputtered a cough. “That’s…something.”