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)
My jaw nearly dropped.
He couldn’t be serious. I didn’t even get to spend time with Frankie, Momma, and Sav.
Never mind that. There was still a twelve-pound cake with my name on it. Literally.
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.”
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.
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.