Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
I inhale a deep breath, but I will not resort to cussing him out. “We agreed my visa wouldn’t be dependent on a relationship with you.”
“It isn’t. Not wholly. It’s just an added safeguard. A man of my standing wouldn’t commit visa fraud.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your standing. Take it out. I don’t want it—I don’t want any link to you.”
“How would that look, given it’s already been submitted? A canceled spousal visa followed by a failed relationship. Be sensible, Eve. Think of how it would look.”
I don’t feel sensible. I feel rage filled. I physically vibrate with a deep loathing for his interference, his underhanded manipulation. Why would he force me to stay longer? I just don’t get it. “You are . . .” I growl low and hard.
“Yes. I’m all those words running through your head and more. But I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.” He takes his glasses from his pocket, examining them briefly before slipping them on.
Glasses. The word pings in my head. I step away, putting a little distance between us as I think. The tiara try-on session. The ring. No, not the ring. That was another step in his fucked-up plans. Fancy Nutella, peanut butter, his driver at my disposal—a dozen other little things. I know Oliver is far from perfect. I know he’s not even someone I should trust, but people aren’t wholly good or bad. Human nature is a thing of duality.
Was the affidavit his attempt at helping? Does he want me to stay? Something flutters in my chest, but I push it away.
“You love it, don’t you?” Cocking my hip, I fold my arms across my chest. “You love playing up to your villainous alter ego.”
His response? A bored look as he fastens a button of his jacket.
“I know I said you were the devil, but I’m not sure that’s really you.” Not really all of you. “Were you even going to have me deported?” I’m not grasping at straws, but this just doesn’t make sense.
His mouth tips, and as he saunters closer, I force myself to stand my ground. “Your optimism is truly astounding.” His hand lifts to cup my cheek, and my pulse skips a beat. “I know who I am, Eve. I know my own faults. In fact, I embrace them.”
Up close, his hair is slicked back perfectly, his jaw razor sharp and smooth. He smells like cologne and Oliver voodoo. He smells like I should be anywhere else but near him.
“By buying me a half dozen pairs of reading glasses?” With a flutter of my fingers, I add, “By dotting them around the place for me to find when I need them?”
“Darling, you’re confusing an act of convenience with someone who gives a fuck.”
I blink, trying to process the truth over a piercing hurt.
“What’s done is done. You’re committed. You will stay, and you will play your part.”
“Until the bitter end?” I snipe.
“Yes, until then.” His hand slides down my arm and I watch as he pulls his phone from his pocket, passing it over. “Take heart, it’s all part of the bigger plan.”
“Not again,” I whisper, staring down at an image of myself, this time with him. We’re outside of the jewelers’, hand in hand. My cheeks are flushed, and I’m laughing, high on tiara window-shopping and residual embarrassment.
A Little Bird Told Us . . .
our Pulse Tok bride is moving on.
The saga continues!
This is different. At the side of the column is a byline attributed to Una Smith, the journalist from the clinic. Looks like she got herself a whole new column. I glance up, though Oliver’s expression gives nothing away.
“Una’s gone up in the world.”
“I think that all depends on your definition.”
“Did you have a hand in her promotion?”
“How?”
“Are you asking me to guess?” You twisty mother trucker.
“If you read it, you’ll find it all very self-explanatory.”
That’s not an answer, but lowering my gaze, I scan the text.
Doggy doctor Evie Fairfax, our infamous Pulse Tok bride, has been spotted out in Mayfair on the arm of one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, Oliver Deubel.
Spotted leaving Garrard & Co, the exclusive jewelry store, the hotel magnate and private equity bigwig cut a handsome figure in a navy suit.
No mention of what I’m wearing, though that’s maybe just as well.
Meanwhile Evie clutched a little somethin’ somethin’ in her hand as the pair attempted to fly under the radar, making a beeline for his luxury car.
Was there something sparkly in the bag? Maybe something with a lot of carats on a platinum band?
A rep for Oliver, who’s regularly named on European rich lists, insists the pair is just friends, despite Garrard being well patronized by the rich and fabulous for its wedding collections.
Are those wedding bells a Little Bird hears?
Join us in wishing Evie better luck this time around.