Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
I glance around in awe as we head for the main door. The courtyard is covered with flowers. Fragrant bursts of color pop everywhere, perfuming the spring air as we walk up broad brownstone stairs to the house.
I knock on the door.
“Miss Renee, how are you?” The butler answers a second later.
“Of course, there’s a butler!” Jenn whispers with a laugh.
“Splendid, Geoffrey. How are you?”
“Fine, indeed. I’ll let Mr. Winthrope know you’ve arrived.”
“I’m aware. Thanks.” Brock appears in a silver suit right behind him and reminds me he’s learned a few manners.
His suit fits his sculpted bod like a glove over a workman’s hand.
And he thieves my breath away, even before his piercing blue gaze meets my eyes. “Welcome back, Sunshine. It’s been too dark around here.”
I smile, blushing as I step toward him.
Jenn and Maisy exchange a look and trail in behind us.
They stop when they hear a skittering sound rapidly flying toward us.
Andy’s bark sounds about a second before he comes tearing around the corner. He flies in from a long hallway and darts between the butler’s legs.
Poor Geoffrey almost stumbles over the dog’s long body. Andy barks some more as he untangles himself and marches up to my feet.
He licks my shoe and sits at attention, his little dark eyes brimming with excitement.
“Hi, hot dog. I missed you.” I scoop up all thirty-something pounds of pup, holding him like the overgrown baby he is.
Brock closes the space between us, drapes an arm around me, and moves me to his side so he can see everyone else.
His eyes light up when he sees who’s behind Maisy and Jenn.
“How was your trip over the pond, Mr. Renee?”
“Too damn long. Makes you wonder why they ever retired the Concord. But since you’re marrying my little girl, you can start calling me Harold.”
They lock hands and exchange smiles, melting into their own conversation.
Later, when we sit down for dinner, Maisy looks at the silverware beside her plate.
“That’s...a lot of forks and knives. Why do I have so many again?” She picks up the fish knife and holds it up. “And why do I have a scalpel?”
Brock chuckles.
“It’s a fish knife,” I say.
“Huh. That’s no fish knife I’ve ever seen,” Dad grumps.
I’m really worried about how this is going when Mrs. Winthrope says, “You know what? I’m exhausted with these stuffy formal dinners. We’re supposed to be having fun!”
The maid stops pouring wine in her glass and looks appalled.
Mrs. Winthrope meets her eyes. “Why don’t we do drinks in the family room?”
“The cook won’t be prepared, ma’am,” the maid says.
Mrs. Winthrope stands.
“Oh, I’ll help her. It shouldn’t take long to throw together sandwiches from the ham. We have a pile of cakes too. Since we’re skipping the formalities, why don’t we go straight to dessert?”
“Ha, I knew you folks knew how to cut loose. Always wanted to eat my weight in sweets in a castle,” Dad says.
Everybody laughs.
The tea dinner in the family room is a dream. It’s sandwiches, chips, and several heaping cakes and fruit pies that shame every bakery I’ve ever visited.
Even better, everyone actually relaxes. Comfortable conversations and easy laughs fly around the room.
Crisis averted.
Brock wraps an arm around me as I breathe a sigh of relief. We turn back to the newcomers sitting across from us, a tall couple who look like casual royalty.
Meeting Brock’s parents feels less awkward than I expected.
Dalton and Katherine Winthrope are—something, all right. Very modern, highly educated, quick to boast about their travels and their charity work, and weirdly indifferent to the fact that their son has his wedding tomorrow.
I get why he’s closer to his grandparents. Still, they’re not bad people, and I’m pumped that I’m getting two awesome new grandparents out of this deal.
The evening draws on with drinks flowing. Ross Winthrope adds another log to the crackling fire in a hearth that looks like the mouth of a cave.
And every time Brock gets up to refill our glasses—and sneak in a break from his parents—he steals quiet kisses that tell me just how grateful he is that our knots are about to be permanently tied.
After everyone fades off to their rooms for the night in the massive house, I sneak into Brock’s room.
“What are you doing here?” He leans down and kisses me. “Tomorrow’s the big day. It’s tradition not to see each other overnight.”
“New tradition—I don’t go into my wedding missing you like mad,” I say with a laugh. “I love your grandma, by the way. She totally saved the day.”
He grins. “She’s an amazing hostess and a better human being. Is that all you came to tell me?”
“No. I came for my kiss.”
He gently grabs my neck and tilts my face, pulling my mouth to his.
Fireworks.
As long as I live and whatever we become, I will never, ever get sick of tasting his growl.