Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Probably we need to date for at least a month before you propose, don’t you think?” She put little air quotes around the word. “Lest our families think we’ve completely lost our minds?”
After giving it some thought, I said, “Yeah, you might be right. I don’t want my dad to pull some bullshit where he says we have to be together for a certain amount of time before he’ll give me the business. He has to believe we’re in love and this is real.” I eyeballed her critically. “You sure you’re going to be able to pull this off?”
She stared right back. “Are you?”
My spine straightened. “Yes. I’ll have you know, I’m a great actor. I played Romeo when I was a senior in high school.”
Her expression said, Fuck off, you did not. “What?”
“I’m serious. Some girl I liked at the time was all into theater and shit, and she convinced me to try out. I didn’t really think I’d get the role, but I did. And she was so psyched about it, she gave me a blowjob that very day after school.” I shrugged. “So I figured I should actually do the play.”
Bianca was shaking her head. “Of course that’s why you did the play.”
“I was good too.” I clutched at my chest and spoke in a dramatic, raspy voice. “Thus with a kiss, I die.”
She burst out laughing. “Just when I think you can’t be any more ridiculous.”
“Whatever.” I started eating again. “My point is that I know I can be convincing. I hope you’re up for the challenge.”
“I will admit that acting wildly in love with you is going to be a challenge, but I will do my best,” she said, twirling pasta on her fork. “Don’t expect any blowjobs though.”
I snorted. Bianca had probably never given a blowjob in her life. “I wouldn’t dare. So what will be allowed? We have to give them something. Hand holding?”
“Sure.”
“Can I kiss your cheek?”
“I suppose,” she said with a sigh, like it would truly be a hardship for her. “Just for show. But no kissing on the lips.”
“Agreed. But if I put my arm around you, are you going to slap me?”
“Just keep your hands where they belong, Enzo, and we’ll be fine.”
“Works for me,” I said, although I found my eyes wandering over the small curves of her breasts in the tight black sweater she wore. For a moment, I imagined sliding between the sheets with her, but even when I looked at her in my fantasy, she was wearing her glasses and had her nose stuck in a book about teenage vampires.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“Nothing.” I hadn’t even realized I’d started to chuckle.
Her eyes narrowed, and I got the feeling she’d read my mind somehow and knew I was laughing at her.
“So the marriage,” she said tartly. “I’ve got some rules.”
“Hit me.”
“It’s purely for show. There is no marriage bed. There will be no consummation. Not on the wedding night or any night after.”
“Party pooper.”
“And we’ll do the insemination right away.”
“No problem. I cannot wait to inseminate you from one room away.”
“And if it doesn’t work the first time, I’d like two more tries. If it doesn’t work after three tries, we can move to the divorce phase.” She looked upset as she poked at her pasta.
“You don’t think it’s going to work?”
Her shoulders rose. “Hard to say. Women who have PCOS like I do have reduced odds of conceiving.”
“Well, that’s because they’ve never tried it with a Moretti.” I thumped my chest. “The men in my family have very strong genes.”
“Oh, good Lord.” She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t have anything to do with your genes, Enzo. It has to do with my eggs. But I don’t really want to talk about that now.”
“Suit yourself.”
She took a breath and met my eyes. “I’d like to give it three tries. If you’re okay with it.”
I shrugged. “I’m fine with it. I can jerk off three times.”
“Can you not say it like that?” She wrinkled her nose.
“That’s what it is, right? Why not call a spade a spade?”
“I prefer providing a sample. You will provide a sample three times.”
“If it makes you feel better,” I said. “But it’s exactly the same—”
“If it does work,” she went on, interrupting me, “we should probably at least stay married until it’s born. That means we’re potentially committing to being married for up to a year or more. Maybe fifteen months.”
“I was assuming that would be the case,” I said. “I think anything less is suspicious anyway.”
She took another drink of her wine. “Should we discuss phase three? The breakup and divorce?”
“Already trying to get rid of me?”
“The way I see it, there are two possible scenarios.”
“Go ahead. What are they?”
“First, if I don’t get pregnant, we can just blame that.”
I shook my head. “No way. Makes me an asshole, remember?”