Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“Why do you chew gum all the time?” I demanded, standing a safe length away from him.
His jaw locked.
“Answer me, and I might spare you,” I lied.
“You won’t. And even if you did, I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“It’s an obsession.”
“A coping mechanism,” he corrected.
“Like the silence in your house. Your idea of heaven is most people’s hell.”
“Hell gets a bad rep. Sunny all year round, plenty of interesting neighbors, and no Sunday church.”
He was picking a fight with a religion now? The man truly was headed to the nadir of the cosmos.
Without further discussion, I aimed the nozzle at his junk and pushed, spraying a thick, fluffy cloud of whipped cream on his cock and balls. The chill made his skin rise with goose bumps. He sucked in a hiss.
Romeo glared at me with murder in his eyes. “You’ve had your fun. Now untie me or face grave consequences.”
I freed a laugh. “You blackmailed me into marriage, annihilated my reputation, and ruined my relationship with my father. What more can you do?” I aimed the nozzle at his chest, coating each of his nipples with the white fluff, then drawing a smiley face on his abs. “Aw. You look adorable. I cannot wait for Hettie or Vernon to find you like this.”
His brows shot up to his forehead. “If you don’t free me right now, Dallas—”
“Freedom isn’t free, buddy. You’re the one who taught me that lesson. That credit card you gave me is going to come in handy tonight.” I swiveled, grabbed a dress he’d bought me from the floor, and slipped it on. “I’m going to spend tonight in a hotel. Order some room service. Maybe dessert. I didn’t even have an appetite when we visited your parents.” I approached him and set the can in his bound hand, leaning to whisper in his ear. “Ruined by whipped cream.” I tsked, just the way he had the night we’d met. “How the mighty have fallen.”
There was a spring in my step when I strode to the door, knowing Romeo would stay right where I’d left him, naked and covered with sticky goo, until morning rose and his staff trickled into his mansion.
Before I left, I bent my knees in a mock bow, imitating his grandiose manner of speech, down to the high-brow Potomac accent. “Perhaps we shall reconvene in the next century, Lord Costa. Or the one after that.”
He didn’t answer.
Tough crowd.
I just knew this moment would come up on my Judgment Day.
Chapter Twenty-One
Romeo Costa: @OllievB, are you still interested in taking the banshee off my hands?
Ollie vB: Why?
Romeo Costa: I’m putting her on the market.
Zach Sun: Oh, no.
Zach Sun: What could possibly have gone wrong?
Zach Sun: [GIF of a person skydiving with an umbrella instead of a parachute]
Ollie vB: IDK if I’m willing to commit to marrying her, but I am happy to give her a bed to sleep in until you cool off.
Romeo Costa: Would you extend this offer to me? The penthouse is undergoing renovations, and there’s no way I’m returning to the manor before the wedding.
Ollie vB: Sorry, but the offer is exclusive to people I’d like to give a cum facial.
Zach Sun: The mental image is exquisite. Thank you, @OllievB.
Ollie vB: What happened? Show us on the sex doll where she touched you.
Romeo Costa: @ZachSun? You have five spare bedrooms.
Zach Sun: Sorry, I’m expecting guests from Guangzhou.
Romeo Costa: Your family isn’t visiting until New Year.
Zach Sun: Nice memory.
Zach Sun: In that case, you can’t crash at mine simply because you’re unbearable.
Ollie vB: I know a nice hotel chain if you’re looking for recommendations.
Romeo Costa: How charitable of you.
Ollie vB: Are you going to tell us what happened?
Romeo Costa: If I do, I’ll ruin whipped cream for you for eternity.
Zach Sun: I’m lactose intolerant.
Ollie vB: And I’m red-lines intolerant, so nothing can put me off.
Romeo Costa: All right. Here goes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Romeo
I would never make eye contact with Hettie again. The silence that gripped Dallas’s bedroom when Hettie had found me at eight in the morning and untied me from the bed—sticky, melted whipped cream scarcely covering my morning wood—was deafening.
She tried to loosen the knot manually at first. Then, after a three-minute struggle, she huffed. “Goddammit, out of all the women you could’ve gotten engaged to, you chose the one with James Bond’s combat skills?”
“Trust me, no one is less excited than me about the pending nuptials. Now go get some scissors, and while you’re at it, drape the blanket over my nether region.”
File under: a sentence I never thought I’d tell someone I hired to steam my broccolini.
“Nether region?”
“My cock, Hettie. By God, does anyone under thirty have a vocabulary not borrowed directly from TikTok?”
She’d seen my scars. I was certain of it. So had my fiancée. Both had the good sense not to probe, though. Still, I didn’t like that people knew. I didn’t like that they could guess. I didn’t like the reminder that once upon a time, I was weak, too.