Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I regarded him, trying to figure out his tactics, why he’d make me a sandwich of all things.
His lips were still stretched upward, but his eyes were doing something different. They looked almost… melancholy. But surely that was too complicated of an emotion for a man who was so shallow.
I snatched the grilled cheese, shoving it in my mouth with a groan of pleasure. “You can go now,” I mumbled past the food. “Thanks,” I said after I swallowed, reluctant to say it. I waved the sandwich in his face. “For this. And for, um… marrying me, I guess.”
His mouth thinned. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said gruffly. “I did this for my own reasons.” He stared at me, and I suddenly felt small and vulnerable. “I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, Fiona. You’d do well to remember that.”
Then he turned and walked out of my room.
I stared at the empty spot he’d been standing in, blinking rapidly. “Well, fuck,” I muttered. Then I went back to my sandwich.
There might’ve been a time to think further on his cryptic little parting statement, but when I had a hot grilled cheese in front of me, I had other priorities.
And despite the sandwich and what such a gesture might communicate, I’d never forget that Kip wasn’t doing this for noble reasons. I’d never mistake him for the hero.
My head was pounding the next morning.
Daggers were being plunged into my temples.
I was on a boat. My bed was jerking as if we were in rough seas.
Once I blinked the blinding morning light from my eyes, I realized I was not, in fact, on a boat, and I was indeed in my bed.
I was just really fucking hungover.
Getting drunk had seemed like the only sensible solution on my fake wedding day. Now I was kind of regretting it.
I groaned, rolling over in bed and almost face-planting into a plate of half-eaten grilled cheese.
Vague moments of last night started piecing themselves together. The vows. The kiss. Nora being pregnant. I’d deduced it when she didn’t touch the expensive champagne I’d charged on Kip’s credit card.
“What’s mine is yours, remember, honey?” I’d called to him when I’d requested the card that he had interestingly forked over without a fight.
She’d been trying to keep the pregnancy a secret so as not to ruin my special day. Because she thought it was a special day.
Ugh.
My best friend was preggers.
Ah, at least one happy thing had happened yesterday.
Had Kip… carried me over the threshold?
Yes, he had.
Then he’d made me a grilled cheese.
And I remembered it being fucking amazing.
Then again, anything fried and full of cheese and carbs when you were wasted was amazing. Nothing to be impressed by. I’d eat a human head if it was deep-fried when I was in that state.
I rolled onto my back, wincing at the pain and the churning of my stomach that came with the movement.
Staring at the ceiling, I contemplated my day. Nora had insisted I have the day off. She’d tried really hard for the week, trying to convince me that I needed a honeymoon.
I’d fought hard on that one. We were doing enough for this thing, lying to our friends, committing fraud, living together for an indefinite amount of time. I did not need Kip to ruin a perfectly good vacation.
Beyond that, I couldn’t afford it.
Nora paid me well. Far too well, honestly. I was nothing but a glorified barista. Sure, I helped managed the place when Nora was spiraling, sick, or baking up a storm. Tina did that too.
It wasn’t a chore. I fucking loved working at the bakery—except the early mornings, I’d never get used to those. I got to work with people I loved, and there were always delicious sugary sweets around. I had freedom, full benefits, and enough money to pay the rent on my seaside cottage, plus buy myself clothes and nice furniture. It was enough to make a life, a great one.
I’d been in America long enough and worked enough jobs to understand that was hard to come by.
So yeah, my best friend was a fucking gem. Except when she was trying to force me to go on a honeymoon and take the day off after I got married. Granted, if I actually liked my husband, I’d be happy to spend the week shagging and drinking umbrella drinks on a beach somewhere. It’d be awesome.
As it was, it was a fucking nightmare.
“What the fuck have you done, you stupid bitch?” I said out loud, lying back on the pillow placing my palm to my forehead. “You’re fucked.”
It took me a long time to get out of bed.
Then I sat in the bottom of the shower for about thirty minutes before I brushed my teeth and slapped on some moisturizer that Nora gave me because she’d been horrified to know I used the same stuff on my face as I did on my body.