Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
I don’t trust myself right now, and that is scaring the shit out of me. I know one thing for sure: I’m not letting her go. Ever.
10
Kennedy
I think my sister ditched me with Gerrit’s mom. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I peek up from the menu that I’ve been pretending to read for the last five minutes. I quickly drop my eyes back down when I see Gerrit is still staring at me unapologetically. I can feel the heat that rises in my cheeks at being caught looking at him. I keep trying to concentrate on the menu, but I can’t stop thinking about what he did to me earlier.
How am I more shy right now than I was in the dressing room when he had his fingers between my legs? I clench my thighs together again. I should be happy that the server returns to our table, but the way she keeps giving Gerrit those googly eyes makes me anything but.
She looks as if she’s going to continue to flirt with Gerrit. For the first time since we were seated, I put my menu down, annoyed at her behavior. This marriage might be arranged, but he’s still going to be my husband by the end of the week.
“Are you going to be having your usual, Gerrit?” she asks in a chipper voice. Her eyes never leave him. She doesn’t even bother to look my way. My shyness has disappeared, and annoyance has taken its place.
I dislike how she uses his name as if they are old friends. As though she knows things about him when I barely know anything at all. He doesn’t have any reaction to her, so I’m going to guess that they were never lovers.
I don’t think Gerrit would be outright rude to her, but it’s not unheard of. Maybe he sleeps around a lot and he doesn’t remember her. I mean, that’s happened to my father on more than one occasion. He would forget that he’d slept with the woman and treat her as if she was nothing more than a stranger.
My mood sours at the thought of that being the case with Gerrit and this server. Gerrit touches my elbow, making me take my eyes off the woman. I swear his lip inches up for a second as if he can read my mind.
“Do you know what you want, love?” he asks me. I should. I’ve stared intently at the menu since we sat down. That was until Ms. Flirty Pants showed up. He stares at me, waiting for an answer. “Want me to order for you?”
“Thank you,” I agree. He rambles off our order to the server, ordering more food than we could ever eat.
“You know I have a wedding dress to fit into in a few days,” I try to tease as Ms. Flirty Pants writes down our order. Her eyes finally swing over to me. I continue to look at my soon-to-be husband, not giving her the time of day. Hopefully she got my message loud and clear. Stay away from my man. Even though he’s not really mine, but whatever. She doesn’t need to know the details. My eyes remain on Gerrit until I feel her leave the table.
“You said you were hungry.” He picks up his water and takes a drink. He’s still staring at me.
“You know, you stare at me a lot.” I don’t know why I point it out. I’m not sure if I want him to stop or not. It’s flattering that he can’t pull his eyes away from me, but it also makes me fidget and feel like my every move is being watched.
“You’re going to be my wife. I think I have the right to stare at you.”
“Why are you doing this, Gerrit? You could easily find a woman to marry that you’re in love with. I wouldn't take your parents as the kind that would agree with arranged marriages,” I ask.
My parents wouldn't openly call this an arranged marriage, but that’s what it is at the end of the day. It’s more common than people know in these circles. It just isn't openly talked about. Families wanting to marry into other families for some business reason.
“I need a wife” is all he says, giving me nothing. Someone walks by, dropping a bread basket off at our table. It smells entirely too good. I wasn't joking about the wedding dress. I make myself stop, staring at the delicious-smelling bread and knowing that I only have so much willpower. I watch as Gerrit snags a piece for himself, buttering it before placing it on my bread plate.
“No, thank you.”
“Do you hate bread?”
“No. Who hates bread?” I laugh. There should be a law against such things. I’d never trust anyone who hated bread.
“Then you’ll eat it. You’re starving. Did you eat breakfast?” I shake my head no. “Why?” He narrows his eyes on me. That shouldn't turn me on, but it does.