Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
I ignored them, glaring at Mom. “Has this become your second home?”
“Are you complaining that I’m here too often?”
“Sounds like a cry for help.” Celeste Ayi waltzed into the room, holding a mimosa, and squeezed my cheek. “Oh, Zachy, we’ll absolutely come every day, since you asked so nicely.”
“There’s no wedding anymore, Mom. I told you this.” I stared down the orchestra until they began packing up. “I went to the Hamptons and royally screwed up the engagement.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Mom waved a hand. “Eileen confirmed the date with me in person just yesterday.”
How convenient, considering Eileen hadn’t returned any of my thousand or so texts, emails, or voicemails. She obviously wanted this farce of an engagement to remain intact.
Never knew her dodging skills rivaled White Goodman’s. It was, in fact, the only interesting thing about her.
“Now that you’re here, I would love your input on the cake.” Mom lugged a five-hundred-page catalog from her bag, pounding it onto the counter. “I’m thinking a floor-to-ceiling lemon cake in ivory. Not too sweet, of course.”
“I’ll order you one for your birthday.” I waited until every musician shuffled out, heads tucked down, before turning back to Mom. “Because I’m not getting married.”
In my pocket, Tom’s last text taunted me. I’d let it go unanswered.
Tom:
Do you want me to follow her or not? Because you are not hot enough for me to put up with your mixed signals, man.
My nostrils flared.
I had made myself a promise to respect Farrow’s privacy, not to hunt her down.
Be good, Sun.
It’s just 30 days.
Farrow will be back where she belongs in no time.
Problem was, being good didn’t feel good.
In fact, it felt the opposite.
Celeste Ayi flipped through the catalog, frowning. “Are you sure we want a spring wedding? I don’t think my hair can handle the heat.” She snapped her fingers. “I suppose I could hire a personal hairstylist to follow me during the reception. What a phenomenal investment.”
“Xiao Ting, we get fitted for our dresses in one week.” Mom tsked at the sight of her sister downing her drink in one go. “We need to keep a stable weight. At least until after the wedding.”
I sighed, trudging back to my bed.
It didn’t matter what I said. Mom wouldn’t listen.
I needed to track down Eileen.
T-MINUS 26 DAYS.
Zach Sun:
6:00 p.m. The Grand Regent Lobby.
Zach Sun:
Is there a reason you stood me up, Miss Yang?
Zach Sun:
I know you’re in Potomac, Eileen. My mother informed me.
T-MINUS 25 DAYS.
On day five of my liberation from Zachary Sun, Dallas called in reinforcements.
I groaned at the hanger she tossed at me, sitting on the edge of her duvet. “For the last time, I’m not depressed.”
Truly, I wasn’t.
Since I left Zach’s, I’d vowed to focus on myself. To use these thirty days to sort out my mind and screw my head on straight.
At thirty-three, he had ten more years on this earth to figure out who he was and what he wanted with life. I deserved an extra thirty days.
Plus, now that I knew Eileen loved Zach—way, way more than she let on—my old arrangement with him felt icky. (Though I did find her manipulations to be as charming as one-ply toilet paper.)
Dallas shoved a hanger at Frankie this time. “That’s what all depressed people say.”
Fair enough.
“Why do we need reinforcements?” I shimmied on the fluffy tulle skirt. “We’re not The Avengers.”
“Speak for yourself. I feel like Tony Stark.” Hettie—the head chef at the Costa Estate and the coolest person to grace this forsaken planet—frowned at the boxy red-and-gold tutu Dallas had crammed her into. “We’re going to the club, not a ballet recital.”
“My sister never got a bachelorette party.” Frankie slung an arm around Dallas’ shoulder. “If she wants us to wear these, we’re wearing these.”
“Thank you, Frankie.” Dallas slipped into a white dress that barely fit over her stomach. “Nothing cures depression like a trip to the club.”
I collapsed onto her mattress, covering my face with both palms. “Not. Depressed.”
But she’d already moved on to our shirts, assigning us identical ones to wear. She swiped on cherry-red, pregnancy-safe lipstick, spinning to face us. “Well? How do I look?”
Honestly, like a jilted runaway bride.
But also… “Adorable.”
After the four of us finished dressing, we charged down the stairs two-by-two, arms looped at the elbows.
From the kitchen island, Oliver dropped his spoon at the sight of us. He threw his head back and howled, not bothering to comment.
Romeo frowned, tugging the edge of Dallas’ dress. “Where are you going?”
She stood on her tiptoes for a forehead kiss. “The club.”
“In that?”
While Dallas wore a mini wedding dress and veil, Hettie, Frankie, and I donned bright tutus with hot-pink tank tops that read:
I’M WITH THE BRIDE.
Dallas smoothed down her shirt. “What’s wrong with our clothes?”
“Doesn’t seem appropriate.”
“It’s just Costco. Wait.” She cocked her head. “Did you think I meant a nightclub?”