Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
When the old dear told me she had a vision, I didn’t pay much attention. Not even when she said she saw me in a white dress and insisted I’d still be getting married on the day Adam and I originally planned. Even though he’d already dumped me. I knew she wasn’t being cruel. It’s just her age and her recent diagnosis that makes her believe she read the same news in my coffee grounds.
But I don’t believe in any of that old-country stuff. Like how malicious fairies come out after midnight or how howling dogs are indicative of a death. I don’t have any beef with black cats and don’t believe a broken mirror brings bad luck, unless you count clearing up the mess.
I do wear the blue pendant she gave me when my parents passed, but that’s because it has sentimental value, not because I think it protects me from evil. It didn’t stop me from suffering a broken heart.
Still, if I ever did tell Baba about this, she would be smug. But then, she has dementia and recently moved in to a residential care home.
I’d better call them and explain I won’t be around for a few more days.
“If you need a hand getting into that dress . . .”
Fin’s taunting tone pulls me from my introspection, back to the moment and the magnitude of what we’re about to do.
“That won’t be necessary,” I reply in a businesslike tone. Taunting and teasing aren’t part of this deal, and there will be no repeat of our closet encounter. Even if he did help increase my fee.
“It’s the least I can offer, given we’re about to get married.”
“Pretend married,” I retort. Realizing my hand is still in his, I pull it away, ignoring how the motion feels like a caress.
Clairvoyance, my backside. Unless Baba just forgot to mention my wedding day was fake.
“Pretend marriage,” he agrees, a smile leaking through his words. “Real kiss, though.”
Chapter 4
Mila
Poor Evie. She wasn’t joking.
As I sit at the dressing table in the resort’s bridal suite, I feel a little skeevy as I search for the gossip column she mentioned. I know her distress was genuine, but I’d be an idiot to take it all at face value, wouldn’t I?
An idiot already wearing her wedding dress, a little voice offers as I pull up the latest in a very long line of posts about the couple.
A Little Bird Told Us . . .
we’re looking for a man in finance . . .
More specifically, we’re looking for Oliver Deubel, because what could he and his gorgeous doggy-doctor fiancée, Evie Fairfax, be doing leaving the private terminal at City Airport last night? Where, oh where could they be going? Has Evie packed her bikini, or did she have something else in mind to wear? And might that garment be white or come with a veil? She was spotted in an exclusive wedding boutique recently trying on a host of designer gowns.
Might she have packed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue?
Could that have been the sound of wedding bells we heard over the roar of Maven Inc.’s private jet’s engines?
And where, oh where could the rest of his crew be?
We know the ladies’ favorite, gorgeous Fin DeWitt, is in Jakarta on “business” right now, and we have it on good authority that the mysterious Matías Romero has dusted off his tux and is likewise Far East bound.
Messrs. DeWitt and Romero, if you’re reading this, this Little Bird would be your plus one any day of the week. Especially to, say, an exclusive (elusive?) wedding.
So much mystery. But watch this space, my little tweeters, because we’ll be back with juicy news very soon . . .
Notorious. That was the word Evie used. If she’s notorious, these newshounds are scum.
“Did you really say that to him?”
I drag my attention away from the truth of Evie’s life and back to the reality of mine, lifting my gaze to the dresser mirror. Sarai stands behind me, her head canted quizzically, her eyes sparkling with humor.
Did I really say . . . oh, that.
“I didn’t mean to,” I begin, still distracted. “It just fell out of my mouth.” I pluck a tissue from the box and blot my lipstick. But it didn’t so much fall out of my mouth as it was propelled, missile style.
“Man, that sends me!” she howls, her body a sudden explosion of energy. “I wish I’d been there to see his face.”
It is a very pretty face, even if his mouth spoils it. Not the shape of his mouth, because that’s quite lovely. It’s not even the feel and press of it, because that was also very nice, as I recall. It’s the stuff he says that ruins the effect.
Except, he did help me get more money from Oliver.