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)
Finally, there was no more room left for me to retreat. My back crashed against the glass of the patio door. “But … I don’t have a suitcase. And … and … clothes.”
“Cara packed you everything you need.” He pinned me against the glass, arms bracketing my head, fingers staining the glass. “Whipped cream excluded.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“Hate to break it to you, but there’s more mystery in the contents of a hot dog than the contents of that little head of yours.”
“What about my passport?”
“Your mother gave it to me before the ceremony.”
Shoot. She probably thought she’d done me a favor.
“I need to rest. The last few weeks have been so stressf—”
“Our mothers did all the work. You’ve been resting your entire life. This trip is happening whether you want it or not. Now go say your goodbyes.”
“I hate you.” I tried stomping on his foot, but he was quicker, pulling back.
“How unfortunate.” He leaned forward, lips skating over mine. “See, I don’t hate you one bit. In fact, you’re prime entertainment for me. Like a dozen circus clowns emerging from a tiny car. You’re an aerial act, Dallas. When you succeed—I’m impressed. When you fail—I’m amused. But I never, ever care enough to give you hate. That would require you to be my equal.”
His mouth was on mine now, touching but not yet kissing. My heart jackhammered through my rib cage, threatening to tear my chest, leap between us, and splatter on his pristine snowy shirt, blood and all. My eyes slammed shut of their own accord. My lips prepared to find his almost-familiar heat.
But instead of being cocooned once again in his addictive hold, a breeze of cool air slapped my face. I opened my eyes and found Romeo two steps away, sneering down at me.
“So naïve.” He tsked. “You’re going to be spectacularly fun to break.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ollie vB: The bride looked exquisite.
Romeo Costa: Bleach your eyeballs immediately. She wasn’t yours to look at.
Ollie vB: So did her sister.
Romeo Costa: Jailbait.
Ollie vB: Come on, Rom. We both know I’m too rich to see a prison cell from the inside.
Zach Sun: Can someone remove the ghost of David Bowie from the chat?
Romeo Costa removed Ollie vB from the chat.
Zach Sun: Why do I always feel like I need a long, scorching shower after talking to Ollie?
Romeo Costa: Because he is sexual harassment packed into a Tom Ford suit?
Zach Sun: Is Denver excited about Paris?
Romeo Costa: I’ve met cats more excited about their baths.
Zach Sun: Have you considered trying to get along with her?
Romeo Costa: Not once.
Zach Sun: Is there a long version to this answer?
Romeo Costa: I think that ship sailed the day I dragged her by the ear to a state she doesn’t know, to live in a house she doesn’t like, and marry a man she actively hates.
Ollie vB has entered the chat.
Romeo Costa: How did that just happen?
Ollie vB: I have a software engineer on retainer. @ZachSun hooked me up a few months ago when I had to deal with a dick-pic crisis.
Zach Sun: A crisis aptly titled .Mobi Dick.
Romeo Costa: ON RETAINER?
Ollie vB: @ZachSun, your copywriting talent is heartbreakingly wasted.
Romeo Costa: I repeat: ON RETAINER?
Ollie vB: You’d be surprised how often I get myself into hot water with some of the content I share.
Romeo Costa: Something tells me I would not be surprised at all.
Ollie vB: So, is little Townsend taken?
Romeo Costa: LITTLE TOWNSEND IS STILL IN FUCKING COLLEGE.
Ollie vB: I hate to say this, Costa, but you’ve always been a prude. Right, Zach?
Zach Sun left the chat.
Romeo Costa left the chat.
Ollie vB: So dramatic. I bet my fifth yacht the girl is eighteen.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Romeo
Dallas Townsend reminded me of a phoenix, rising from the ashes of her poor decisions. An inspiration to the idling masses. In tonight’s episode, Shortbread drank herself into a stupor. Ever since I’d broken the tragic news of our impending luxurious honeymoon, she’d guzzled down champagne, slurring her thanks to our guests while zigzagging through the room. Aside from her agreeable looks, I’d met office furniture more lovely to spend time with.
It didn’t help that she embarrassed us both by channeling her inner designated drunk aunt at a Christmas dinner, babbling loud enough to be heard from the South Pole. Her family didn’t interfere with the spectacle. Shep conducted business, whereas Natasha dedicated all her efforts into finding a suitable match for the other menace she’d spawned. And Franklin … Franklin knew exactly how drunk Dallas was. She let it happen, aware that I was allergic to public scandals.
That I managed to shuttle Shortbread into my private jet without losing an eye was nothing short of a miracle. We were Paris-bound, and the excitement level sat somewhere between a three-day-long calculus marathon and a funeral.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Dallas announced, clutching her stomach, still in her bridal gown. Her face was extraordinarily green for someone who wasn’t the Grinch.