Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“I will.”
He’s smiling that crinkly faced smile again, and I can’t take it, so I turn away for the rest of the drive.
I’m surprised when we pull up in front of a luxurious looking hotel. Philippe is paying the driver, so the wedding is clearly here. The ceremony too.
I can’t say it’s not nice. The rooms probably cost four or five hundred dollars a night, and the interior is dripping with fancy lighting and plush red carpets. There’s a big sign at the front that announces the Wilson/Hatford wedding in Ballroom A.
Philippe leans in. “Showtime,” he whispers. His warm breath curls over my ear and the sweet spot between my neck and shoulder. He sets a hand at the small of my back, and it’s all I can do to keep my toes from curling up in my shoes. In a good way.
When we enter the hotel, he steers me up a winding staircase with fancy metal railing. There is a crowd milling around on the landing upstairs, and they’re all dressed up, so I’m assuming they’re here for the wedding. Philippe doesn’t stop to chat with anyone, which I appreciate since my stomach is a mess of nasty butterflies, and my tongue feels so dry and thick in my mouth. I doubt I could say anything anyway, even if I wanted to.
Inside, the ballroom is set up with rows and rows of white slipcovered chairs. And the aisle seats are all decorated with boughs of greenery with sprays of baby’s breath added in.
“Since we are running a little late, we should probably get to our seats right away and meet the family later.”
“How do we know where to sit?”
“My sister probably wants us to sit in the front rows because they’re reserved for family.”
“Great,” I groan. “Everyone is going to be looking at us.”
“Don’t worry.” Philippe is so calm that I have to do a double-take. I kind of thought he’d be so nervous, I’d have to worry about him giving himself another panic attack, but so far, he just looks…good.
Composed. Calm. Gorgeous.
If he was my real boyfriend…Don’t even go there. I mean, it’s hard not to when he looks so incredible and smells so good. He’s wearing a different cologne today. It’s lighter. But obviously expensive because it’s so complex that I can’t pick out a single individual note in it. His clothes fit him perfectly like they were made just for him, and knowing him, they might have been. The jacket shows off his broad shoulders, and those jeans…well, Granny was right about how they fit in the back end. His jet-black hair is combed back and tied at the nape of his neck with a black elastic. I’ve never seen him wear it that way before.
He’s clean-shaven, and the dark colors of his clothing bring out the steel grey of his eyes. I also took a moment in the cab, to appreciate his bone structure in a way I haven’t before. His face really is beautiful in a rugged masculine sort of way. His frame is way too big to pass for a male model, but god. Those cheekbones could cut something.
So could my nipples at the moment.
Damn.
I sit down heavily next to Philippe in the middle of the second row. Only a few other people are sitting down already, but Philippe doesn’t seem to mind or notice. I’m glad he’s not looking at me either. The dress has a built-in bra in the top, but I’m pretty sure there’d be some peaks sticking out at the moment. I cross my legs to try and cut off the flow of blood to my lady bits and to stop the strange shivery throbbing that’s going on down there, but it doesn’t work.
It gets worse when Philippe takes my hand and threads our fingers together. I have to admit, I really, really like his hands. They are strong. Capable. His fingers are long but powerful. His nails aren’t bitten at all, but they’re also not groomed. It looks like he cares for them the same way most of the rest of the world does—with a two-dollar set of nail clippers. I hate stuff on my nails, so I never paint them. I’m a fan of the nail clippers as well, and most of the time, I keep my nails trimmed fairly short. It’s annoying when they click on the keyboard at work. I hate that. Right now, though, I feel like I should have borrowed some of Granny’s nail polish and actually attempted painting them. Discreetly, I tuck my other hand into the feathers of my dress so that it’s not visible.
Eventually, the room fills up. There’s a really expensive-looking arch at the front, decorated with boughs of greenery and baby’s breath just like the aisles. The front of the ballroom is huge, with a massive set of floor to ceiling windows to let in natural light. It’s actually quite a pretty room for a hotel.