Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Please.” It came out as a demand instead of a plea. She stood tall, staring me dead in the eyes. I wondered where the Townsend sisters got their spine from, because it sure wasn’t from Daddy dearest. “We fit better, you and me. I’m more pragmatic, she’s more...”
“Unhinged?”
She bared her teeth. “Impractical.”
I leaned a shoulder against the shelf. “There’s only one problem.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not a pedophile.”
“First, I’m nineteen, you jackass. Second, you don’t want to marry her. Trust me.”
I had to give her one thing—she was smart enough not to appeal to my heart, probably sensing I didn’t have one.
“And why’s that?”
“Because she’s in love with Madison.”
That caught my attention.
Unlike her father, I assumed Franklin discussed such things with Dallas. I also remembered Shortbread complaining about Madison’s infidelity.
I studied her, almost interested for once. “That so?”
“Yes.” Ire singed her eyes. “Take me. I’m unattached.”
“Also: unfit.”
“She’ll never love you.”
“I’ll try to carry on.”
Her demand metamorphosed into a desperate plea. “Romeo.”
She sauntered into my space, running her hand down my tie. Her fingers stopped just above my navel—and only because I snatched her hand before she cupped my junk.
I’d sooner be seduced by a rotten egg sandwich than this child.
Franklin leaned closer, still, pinning her flat chest against my upper stomach. “Let me prove myself to—”
Stepping back, I let her fall and tumble onto the carpet, face-first.
She groaned, her mouth inches from my loafers. “You sick bastard.”
I used the tip of my loafer to kick her phone away. The device turned on its back.
On her screen, the recording app flashed.
A setup.
Very One Tree Hill.
Franklin scrambled to her feet. A deep frown stamped on her face. “Know what? I’m actually happy you’re marrying her. She won’t stop until your life is ruined.”
“That, I can believe.”
Her lips parted, preparing to launch into more verbal diarrhea, but my phone’s ringtone informed me that Shortbread’s two hours were up.
“Go call your sister.”
“I’m not your secretary, ass-face. You go get her.”
It’d be my displeasure.
I saw my way out of the library and up the winding staircase to the second floor. Shortbread’s room stood at the end of the hall.
I knocked. “Time’s up.”
No response.
Rather than repeat the entire process again—I knew she wouldn’t budge—I pushed the door open. If she was indecent, fine. Nothing she hadn’t offered to show me before.
But Shortbread wasn’t naked.
Nor was she crying hysterically in a heap of emotions, perched on a windowsill like a damsel in distress.
She was, in fact, sleeping peacefully on her queen-size bed, still in her dressing gown, Cheaters dancing on her television.
A single snore rattled her shoulders.
Words failed me.
For the first time in my life, it occurred to me that my vocabulary might be insufficient.
Needless to say, Dallas had not packed a single item. There wasn’t even a suitcase in sight.
As if sensing the impending storm, Shep and his wife materialized at her door.
Shep clutched the frame. “Remember, Costa, honey attracts more bees.”
I waltzed to Dallas’s bed, perching on its edge. Her hair—thick and wavy and impossibly soft—framed her face.
I skated my knuckles over her spine. She fussed, her exposed skin pebbling with goose bumps. A soft moan fled her lips.
“Wakey, wakey, Shortbread.” My voice glided over her skin like velvet. “It’s time to say goodbye.”
She was so disoriented, she actually followed instructions for once, opening her eyes. Then the small serene smile on her face twisted into a frown.
I didn’t break character, though.
I picked up her hand from under the covers and slipped the 20.03-carat emerald-cut engagement ring onto her finger. “Sleep well?”
Behind my back, Shep released a relieved exhale.
Dallas eyed me skeptically, ignoring the ring. “I guess. Sucks that I woke up, though.”
Trust me, sweetheart, I am disappointed, too.
“Our plane departs in forty minutes. We should leave right away.”
“Fine.” She rose, duvet pooling around her waist. “Let me just pack—”
“Sorry, Shortbread. As I said before, you had two hours.”
“Stop calling me Shortbread. I have a name.”
“One that is arguably more ridiculous.”
“Dude, your name is Ro—”
“Do not call me dude.”
“Lord. Okay, go away. I’m packing.”
“You’re coming with me right now, or I withdraw my engagement offer.”
Her eyes flared. “You think that’s a threat?”
“Certainly.” I stood, fishing my phone from my pocket to call an Uber. “If I retract now, you’ll be a ruined, sullied girl with no prospects of marriage to a respectable Southerner. One infamous for getting fingered by a stranger at a ball, only to be dumped by two men in twenty-four hours. How do you think that’ll work for your family? Your reputation? Your life goals?”
She didn’t answer.
She understood the gravity of her situation.
I snatched her by the elbow and escorted her downstairs. Gentle but firm.
She stumbled into the hallway, now fully awake. “At least let me get dressed.”
“You’re perfect just the way you are, darling.”
I valued punctuality. My wife didn’t even know the definition. Yet another reason our marriage would be a miserable one.