Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“When she was eighteen, my mother got knocked up with my ass. The guy who impregnated her was some no-good bum, completely insignificant to this story. As soon as she pushed me out, she ran away with the asshole, and my grandfather raised me. Then, when my mom was nineteen, she died in a car accident. Fast-forward to when I was a preteen, my grandfather died. So, yeah, basically. No family. My grandfather had friends and colleagues, but no one to step up and actually take care of me.”
I stared at him, my jaw on the floor. He really didn’t have anyone. No wonder he was a commitment-phobe. He had no idea what it felt like to belong.
“And your biological dad?” I managed through a choke I hoped he didn’t hear.
Riggs hitched a shoulder up. “Don’t even know his name.”
“The family in Scotland?”
“Can shove it.” He sat back, looking disgusted. “They sounded like assholes. When he died, they’d offered I move to Dundee with them. Thanks, but no fucking thanks. I don’t have a taste for homophobia.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.
He slipped his hand from underneath mine, tipping his coffee cup in salute. “No need to be. I turned out fine, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I said seriously, feeling my cheeks heating up. “You turned out perfect.”
“And you?” He jerked his chin in my direction. “Who would you have invited? Other than your parents and Kieran, I mean.”
My parents, who somehow hadn’t heard or seen my viral proposal video before it was taken down, thank goodness.
I popped a strawberry into my mouth. “Most definitely Cocksucker.”
He smiled tightly. I didn’t know why. I thought he’d be beaming that I’d used his nickname for him.
“And . . .” I looked up at him, taking a final stab with my fork in his waffle. “Definitely, definitely, Gretchen.”
The day I’d dreamed about from the moment I was born—my wedding day—ended up costing thirty-five bucks. Forty-six and some change, if you count the iced americanos I’d chugged beforehand as liquid courage.
The bride wore powder-blue trousers from Marks & Spencer and a white Topshop blouse her stepdad got her two Christmases ago. The groom opted for casual black jeans and a V-neck shirt. He looked like a hunky Hollywood star, but one who was going on a vegan acai bowl run, not attending a red-carpet event.
Everyone in attendance was from the groom’s side, highlighting just how lonely I was in this city. There were Christian and Arsène, the rich-looking blokes, as well as their wives, Arya and Winnie. No farting dog, though, thank heavens.
We were all standing outside the courthouse, on the stairway, slurping iced coffees, ignoring the blistering heat wave. Arsène was scowling at tourists as if they’d personally attacked him, Winnie offered me homemade wedding-themed red velvet cupcakes, and Christian and Arya periodically checked their phones, obviously disgruntled about having to unplug from their busy day to attend this sham wedding.
“I still can’t believe you’re getting hitched.” Christian side-eyed Riggs through his Ray-Ban Wayfarers.
“I still can’t believe we’re treating this mess as a real marriage.” Arsène scowled, and I gathered he was the bad cop in this group’s dynamics. “The man picked up two women at the Brewtherhood not even a month ago.”
“Jesus, Ars.” Arya glowered, flicking his arm. “Duffy has ears, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“She also has a brain.” Christian slid his shades off. “Which means she knows better than to treat this as anything more than an arrangement. Right, Duffy?”
I nodded numbly. My mind was reeling. Riggs had a threesome? I hated that I was letting this piece of information crawl under my skin, but I chalked it up to the fact I was getting over BJ. Emotions were obviously bleeding into one another.
“Just make sure you sanitize that sofa.” Arsène shot me a glare that could freeze the Sahara Desert. “Our boy here is a piñata of STDs.”
Riggs laughed, enjoying this exchange, and in that moment, on the steps of a courthouse, minutes before what was supposed to be the most important moment of my life, I got cold feet.
It made no sense at all. I was the one who had begged Riggs to marry me.
I couldn’t help but feel deep sorrow that my marriage was being wasted on a coldhearted Casanova who enjoyed nothing more than picking up randoms on the weekend, wasting away as an eternal bachelor.
The worst part was that I couldn’t undo the chain of events that was unfolding.
Even if BJ did come back and propose, I would probably not accept. My life had started to fall apart like an elaborate domino display on the day he’d told me he was leaving, and things had been unraveling ever since.
I was never going to get my perfect wedding. This was as good as it was going to get. A detached exchange of vows with a relative stranger in a courthouse.