Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Benedict blinks in confusion, his mouth open.
No, he doesn’t remember. He’s fucked too many of those he considers lower class to count.
“At her coming out ball. Surely you recall. The blue-collar brute?”
I watch as the flush of recognition then rage transforms his expression. “You.”
I nod. “Me.”
He throws an arm wide. “This? That’s what this is about?”
I could not put more satisfaction into a smile. Yes. All of this. Seven years in the making. From becoming my uncle’s right-hand man after prison to orchestrating all of Benedict King’s failed investments and making sure he took the cash loan he could never pay back.
Yes, I’ve been directing the downfall of Benedict King since that night of the ball when his security guards beat me to a pulp and then dragged me to the police station with lies that no one should have believed.
And today is deliverance.
I now own Benedict King, his wife, and most importantly, that stuck-up virgin of his.
The one who is about to swear to love, honor, and obey me.
Dahlia
There’s a tiara on my head. I wanted a wreath of flowers. The kind with ribbons that fall down the back to mingle with soft curls, but my mother wouldn’t have it.
My hair’s in an up-do to display the diamond engagement earrings Jake gave me at our engagement party. I argued that the tiara actually detracts from the earrings, but in the end, I had no say in the matter.
It may be my wedding, but like every other moment in my life, it belongs to my parents.
Bea, my best friend–the one who I wanted to be my Maid of Honor, but my mother nixed–brushes a little more rouge on my cheeks.
“You look pale. You’re not going to puke, are you?”
I stare out the church window at the guests streaming in. Hundreds of people I don’t really know.
Of course, I’ve memorized all their names and stations. I know who is who and what they mean to both my family and the Reeses. I know I have to schmooze every single one of them today.
That’s my job.
This wedding isn’t about marriage at all. It’s a political event planned by the Reeses and my parents to boost Jake’s Mayoral career and get him to the governorship of New York City.
This will be my job for the rest of my life: looking beautiful, remembering names. Charming the right people.
“If I do, there won’t be much to puke. I haven’t eaten anything today.”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem,” Bea clucks. “I’ll go and get you something.”
The door to the room opens, and my mom pokes her head in. “It’s time. Come here, Dahlia. There’s been a change of plans.”
There’s a wild, hysterical look about my mom. For once, she’s not giving me the critical once-over to tell me everything that’s not perfect about me at the moment. Something must’ve gone wrong downstairs.
The priest didn’t arrive. Or Jake’s sister, my bitchy maid of honor, sprained her ankle or something. Whatever it is, at least she can’t pin it on me.
“Bea, leave us for a minute,” my mom commands.
“Of course, Mrs. King. I was about to go find something for Dahlia to eat.” Bea rolls her eyes at me as she passes behind my mom’s back and blows me a kiss.
I know something’s really wrong when my mom doesn’t tell Bea I can’t eat because my stomach will pooch in the wedding dress.
“Listen to me, Dahlia.” My mom grabs my bare shoulders and squeezes so hard I try to pull away. She shakes me.
“Mom, you’re going to leave marks!” I exclaim. I can’t imagine she’d want her precious daughter’s snowy-white shoulders to have red blotches when she walks down the aisle.
“Listen to me.”
Something about her tone startles me out of my irritability. I’ve never heard her speak this way. She’s always so controlled and ladylike. Even when she’s throwing daggers.
I go still. “What is it? Is it Daddy?”
My dad is overweight and stressed. Total heart attack material.
“No. Yes. Listen!”
My voice raises in pitch. “I’m listening, Mom. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You’re going to walk down that aisle, and you’re going to marry the man at the altar.”
I blink. Well, obviously.
Has my mother taken too much Valium?
“And?”
My mother shakes her head urgently.
Clearly, there’s something I’m not understanding.
Bea knocks on the door and pops her head in. “You two, it’s time! Everyone’s waiting.”
“You’ll marry the man at the altar,” my mom repeats, as if those words hold deep meaning.
“That’s the plan,” I say with false brightness. Jake Reese, my intended from the time I was thirteen years old.
A man I neither love nor even really admire. He’s a pompous ass who only cares about himself.
I flash a bewildered look at Bea, who holds my giant peach and white rose bouquet out to me.
She shrugs. “Show time.” She picks up the train of my gown, so I can walk ahead of her.