Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Milo.
“Uh … him.” I fake a grin.
“Can I make you something to eat?”
“I’d kill for some of that—”
“No. She has to fit into her dress.”
I turn toward Pauline’s voice behind me. Again, I fake a grin.
She smirks. “Fletch said you wouldn’t be home, but I’m glad you are. We need to get you fitted for your dress.”
“My dress?” I squint. “I’m a personal attendant, not a bridesmaid.”
Pauline fiddles with my long bangs. “Yes, dear. But Jolene doesn’t want you picking out your dress.”
I take a step back to stop her fiddling. “Because?”
She scoffs. “Don’t take it personally, Indiana. You and Jolene have different tastes in fashion, that’s all. And we don’t want you picking out something in lavender that will clash with her orchid bridesmaid dresses, or even worse …” Her nose wrinkles. “White. You never wear white to a wedding.”
I hadn’t planned on wearing white. Black. I want to wear black to mourn the marriage of Milo and Jolene.
“Why don’t you shower and do something with your hair? We can make it into town and have you measured before dinner.”
I sniff my armpit and run my hands through my slightly damp hair. “I showered a few hours ago. All I’ve done is drive here.”
Micah chuckles, earning a scowl from Pauline.
“Fine. But at least change into something that doesn’t have holes in it and run a brush through your hair. Maybe put some color on your cheeks and a little lipstick too.”
I glance down at my ripped jeans, but Pauline's gone before I can defend my fashion choice.
“If I didn’t think I’d get fired, I’d offer you a stiff drink,” Micah mumbles.
Eyeing him for several seconds, I smirk. “I’ve missed you. And save me a piece of pie.”
Pauline doesn’t say a word to me while her driver takes us to town. I get fitted for a hideous green dress that looks like something an older woman might have worn fifty years ago. It’s itchy, and the waist hits a weird spot on my torso. Then we pick out shoes, also elderly looking, yet surprisingly toe-crushing. I bite my tongue until I taste blood because I just want to get home to Milo. It’s been four months since I’ve seen him.
Since he’s kissed me.
Since he’s been inside me.
“Dinner’s in an hour. Don’t be late,” Pauline instructs when I hop out of the car and start to run toward the barn.
“Indiana?”
My strides die so quickly it feels like I’ve run into an invisible wall. Sighing my annoyance, I turn toward Fletcher on Zeus.
“What are you doing here, and where do you think you’re going?”
Wow. No, Indiana, so good to see you. What a great surprise. Let me give you a big hug, my darlin’ girl.
Nope.
He’s already angry, and I just got here.
“My trip got canceled, so I’m going to see Milo.” I glance down the drive at one of the workers carrying a dead chicken by its neck.
“Milo’s busy.” Fletcher jerks his head toward the main house. “You’ll see him at dinner. Go get changed.”
How many times do I have to change my clothes today?
“I won’t disturb him. I just want to say hi.”
“Indiana.” Fletcher gives me that look and that tone. He’s done negotiating. Will he hit me again if I say more? Will Milo come to my rescue? Will he end him? God … someone needs to.
Deflating, I mope back to the house and up to my bedroom, where I stay until Fletcher and Pauline beckon me to dinner.
When I reach the top of the stairs, Milo comes in the front door, freshly showered and looking hotter than ever in his light blue button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark jeans, and boots. As he removes his hat and sets it on the entry table, I bite my lips together and watch him. Admire him.
In the next breath, his gaze lifts to mine. And he grins. I feel it everywhere.
Barreling down the stairs, I try to suppress my squeal.
“Indie, please help Micah set the table. We’re about ready to eat.” Pauline’s request shoots out of nowhere like an animal triggering a trap in the woods. More like a sword being plunged into my stomach. If I don’t feel Milo’s embrace soon, I will die.
He swallows, tamping down his smile.
Leather. Coffee. Cinnamon.
I can almost taste him like the pies baking in the oven earlier. My skin tingles, anxious for his touch. Balling my hands into fists, I inhale slowly and turn toward Pauline. “Of course.” Never before have I helped Micah set the table. Not that I wouldn’t. It’s just never been asked of me until now.
When we sit for dinner, I can’t look at anyone, not even Milo. Why did I think that coming home was a good idea? Is this what I have to look forward to for the next week? Pauline and Fletcher keeping constant watch over Milo and me?