Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
And I woke up like this. On his side of the bed. Snuggled with him.
I’m about to roll away when I become aware of something. A ring on my finger.
He didn’t!
I lift my hand and stare at it.
He did. He slipped this on my finger while I was asleep.
“Happy wedding day,” he says sleepily as I take in the giant but tasteful, beautiful oval halo rock on my hand. Much larger than the ring that used to sit on this finger, but tasteful, still. Not obnoxious. Not that it matters.
“Do you like it? The wedding ring that goes with it is an eternity band that’ll slide right under the diamond.” He touches my ring finger. “That’s how long our marriage will last. Until eternity.” He squeezes me tighter, growling a reverberating Mm as his lips press against my forehead.
I twist to look up at his sleepy, sexy face and before I’m able to form another thought, he says, “I’ll go get coffee while you shower. I’ll get ready in one of the other bathrooms. Already moved my shaving stuff over. Your dress should be here by nine. I took the liberty of messaging Frank last night to tell him we’re getting married today and that you’re taking a couple weeks off and when you’re back, you’re the boss. Not to worry, he’ll look after your company for you.” He rolls me to my back, kisses me again, and then rolls off me.
I’m left lying on my back absolutely stunned. God, what does Frank think of me right now?
“I’ll send Alannah your proof of life text for you. For reasons I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on, I’ll hang onto your phone for the morning.” He leaves the room and my eyes dart to the nightstand. There’s the book. My bottle of water. The bag of peanut butter cups. No phone.
Panic flares in my gut. Does he know about our conversation yesterday?
When I get out of the shower and into the walk-in closet, which has a cute circa 1950s retro dressing table with stool and lights, there’s already a cup of coffee and a domed platter waiting for me. While lifting it to find the oatmeal, bowl of berries, and tub of yogurt underneath I spot garment bags hanging behind the dressing table with a note attached to the mirror.
I set the dome lid back on the platter and pull the note from the bag. It’s written in handwriting so perfect, Derek could handwrite the wedding invitations himself and it’d look like they were done by a calligrapher.
Chloe,
Dress arrived early. I had Nicola procure 3 dress options from your wedding Pinterest board. She sent over five pairs of wedding shoe options and a selection of head pieces and other accessories. My sister’s hair and makeup girl will be here at nine thirty. I’ll meet you downstairs at eleven. Don’t worry. There will be NO bad luck for us with me seeing you before the ceremony. I made a charitable donation this morning to cancel that out.
Can’t wait to marry you.
Love,
Derek
My heart sinks as I drop down onto the chair at the dressing table and look at myself in the mirror.
My wedding day.
Against my will.
What the fuck will Alannah do? She knows my phone is bugged so she won’t say anything via text, which is good, but not knowing what she has planned has anxiety climbing through my veins like a fungus.
I can’t do this. I can’t marry Derek Steele and live like this. Live not knowing when my stalker is going to snap and snap my neck like a twig. Not knowing when he’ll lash out and hurt someone I care about.
I now know that marrying Adam wasn’t right for me, but I can’t marry this man who I barely know, who has shown me things about his personality that are frankly frightening. Marriage should be based on love, commitment, mutual respect, but also… consent.
Derek doesn’t care about my consent. He only cares about his ‘goals’. Until when? When will his goal post get moved?
At eleven minutes after eleven, Derek comes into the bedroom where I’m pacing. I know I’m late, but I’m in a dither. On the verge of a panic attack. I’m running through imaginary scenarios in my head.
He stops cold, mouth dropping, eyes blazing.
“My beautiful bride. Fuck, I’m a lucky guy.”
He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around my waist. “This might seem a little late but… will you marry me, Chloe?”
Stunned, I say nothing.
He’s in head-to-toe black. Black tux. Black shirt. Black bowtie. He looks like every woman’s fantasy come to life.
I’m in my dream wedding dress. I don’t know how the now infamous Nicola pulled off getting it here so quickly, fitting me so perfectly, but once I put it on and saw myself in the mirror, I didn’t have the heart to take it off. The one and only wedding dress I’ll ever wear? That remains to be seen. The floor-length, feathery, flowing, white cloud of perfection fits like it was bespoke.