Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Mrs. Cannon Price—sequestered to the guest room because her terrifying husband couldn’t and wouldn’t stand to let her in.
5
Cannon
My pain tolerance was something I’d honed over a decade in foster care and another decade pushing myself on the ice, and yet somehow, I’d reached my limit within the first thirty minutes of this engagement party. When Persephone had described the plans, she’d used words like intimate, small, simple, and my favorite—thrown together at her parent’s house.
This was none of those things.
A string quartet played Mozart in the corner of what could only be called a ballroom. Who the fuck had an actual ballroom in their house? Oh, that’s right—the VanDorens did. As for small, there were at least a hundred intimate acquaintances here in suits entirely too stuffy for the oppressive July heat. This was anything but simple. It was a goddamned three-ring circus, and I was the main attraction.
I’d never felt so out of place in my life.
“It really was so lovely to see you,” Persephone said to yet another couple as we worked the room, as she called it.
With her hand hooked lightly in the crook of my elbow, we finished making our excuses and walked away.
“You’re doing great.” Her praise came with a smile that had the same knee-wobbling effect it had a month ago when we’d woken up in Vegas.
I grunted in response.
I’d been married to Persephone for a month. We lived together, ate breakfast together, and even read together in the evenings. It was…fine, it was awkward as hell, and yet as natural as breathing. She didn’t put the TV on to fill the silence, or chatter incessantly, which put her at the top of my list for females I could tolerate spending more than a night with.
And at night, we parted in the hallway, and each went to our respective bedrooms, where, gauging by the glow of her skin and peppy early morning attitude, she slept like a baby. I, however, did not. I’d put her down the hall to keep as much physical space between us as possible, but that didn’t stop my mind from crossing that distance every single fucking night. I’d woken up hard and aching every morning for the last month, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Mostly because I was married to a fairytale Barbie with the body of a Playboy bunny.
“Oh, sweet heavens have mercy on my soul, please tell me—” Persephone whispered.
“Sephie!” The obnoxious cry sounded from across the ballroom, only to be repeated while a blonde wearing a white dress bounced up and down and waved her hand.
I took one look at my wife’s stricken face and put the other woman on my don’t-like-her list. Persephone schooled her features within a heartbeat and flashed a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“We can escape through the side door,” I offered in a low tone.
She laughed softly. “While I appreciate the offer, it would only delay the inevitable. My sister would simply follow us.”
Her sister? That woman was the black sheep of the family?
“So it’s onward into battle we go?” I asked, mimicking her southern accent.
This time her smile was real. “Prepare yourself,” she warned as she straightened her shoulders. The move highlighted her breasts in the strapless, fifties-style, knee-length, white cocktail dress she wore. I’d wanted to remove it with my teeth the second she’d walked down our stairs in it. Instead, I’d told her she looked great and kept my damn hands to myself.
Rule number five was still in effect.
We moved through the crowd, heading toward the small group of people by the wall of windows who, shockingly, looked to be our age. Persephone’s sister held out her hands and wiggled her fingers, which must have been some type of rich-girl summoning because my wife slipped her hand from my elbow and walked straight into her sister’s arms.
“Sephie!” she cried, pulling away long enough to scan down Persephone’s dress. “You look so lovely tonight!”
“Andromeda,” Persephone greeted her with a smile, but her shoulders were still tense.
Andromeda. Thank God I wasn’t actually marrying into this family. They’d probably force Persephone to name her first kid Hercules or some shit.
“You surviving?” Sawyer asked as he appeared on my left with his wife, Echo.
“Barely,” I muttered, keeping my attention on Persephone.
“This might be the most uptight room I’ve ever been in,” Logan muttered as he slapped my shoulder and stood next to Echo with his girlfriend, Delaney, who also happened to be my favorite librarian.
“I can’t believe Mama let you wear that dress,” Andromeda noted with a heavy undertone of pity. “You know it just washes you out without a little color.” She held out her tanned arm to Persephone’s sun-kissed one and shook her head.
“I don’t spend my days by the pool anymore, Andromeda. I have a job,” Persephone replied, lowering her arm. “And besides, it’s tradition for the bride to wear white to her engagement party.”