Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Burying my nose in my bouquet, I force back the wave of pleasure. My bouquet. A tasteful arrangement of cabbage roses with a delicate pink hue. Probably the same color as my cheeks, I think.
I look up to find my groom’s eyes studying me. He’s changed from his sharp suit into light-colored linen pants and a white open-necked shirt. His dark waves flutter in a sudden breeze, and my stomach tightens, remembering how it felt between my fingers.
No music plays as I step over the petals. There’s just the sound of birds chirruping in nearby trees and the flip-flop of my Havianas, which sound quite ridiculous. As if getting married in a bikini isn’t ridiculous enough.
Thank heavens, I packed my prettiest cover-up.
Raif takes my hand, and I hate how my tummy somersaults again. We turn to Señor… whatever his name is, as he begins his well-practiced spiel.
“Raif and Lavender,” the registrar’s sonorous voice begins, pronouncing Raif’s name in an unusual way. All rolling r’s and prominent i. “I welcome you both on this most special of days, your wedding.”
I glance down and notice sock rings around my ankles.
Oh well. It was never going to be perfect this time around.
“… voluntarily entered into for life.”
My head snaps up at his proclamation, my eyes meeting Raif’s.
His head gives an almost imperceptible shake. Married for life. It’s what my parents signed up for, though I’ve never thought of it for myself. But I’m young, and I suppose I’ll get to do it again the right way another time. Heather and Archer. Whit and Mimi. Even Daniel is dating. If they can all find love, I’m sure I can.
Hopefully.
I’ll be a divorcée of course. Does that make a second marriage less special? Never mind, I suppose I can mop up my tears with fifty-pound notes because I’ll be a divorcée with a successful art gallery and an obscene-looking bank balance.
As my mind jumps around like a squirrel on crack cocaine, Raif seems so unaffected. Damn his poker face. It’s so bloody unfair becausse my heart is beating so hard, I’m surprised it’s not visible through the crochet loops.
I’m marrying a man I don’t know, and I’m annoyed that I seem to be the only disconcerted one. I hate inequality. I always have. Maybe because I’ve always felt like I’m missing something. Some intrinsic puzzle piece that will make me the same as everyone else. But I’m not like other people because no one else I know seems to fuck up as much as me.
Before I can examine the thought (or talk myself out of this), my hand rises, and my mouth opens.
And all eyes are looking my way as I say, “Wait.”
7
RAIF
“Wait.”
I watch her shoulders hunch as though she’s expecting a great weight to fall on her.
I don’t answer because my mind is working on a delay. Which could be the fault of the fucking bikini she’s wearing. My tongue feels at least two feet long in my mouth, like if I open it to speak, it might roll out.
“Is there something—”
I hold up my hand, silencing Moreno.
“I have to tell you something,” Lavender says, her eyes anywhere but on me.
“It can’t wait?” Tension tightens my gut. There’s so much at stake. I’m almost there, yet…
Fucking Lavender Whittington.
If I’d known she would be so much trouble, I would’ve chosen someone else.
No, you wouldn’t, whispers a voice in my head. Not now. And not because of her brother.
Fuck that. I don’t like women to be a handful. Other than when I want my hands full of them. My gaze slides over her, the knitted fabric of her tiny dress providing little in the way of coverage. Her bikini even less so.
Who brings a bikini to a wedding she had no choice in?
I push the tangle of thoughts away, ignoring the puff of surprise from the registrar and the offended harrumph of the paper pusher behind me. I sense my security team stirring subtly. They’re here mainly to witness the happy event, but I also know they’re staring at Lavender’s ass. I can’t blame them. Or blind them. But I might need them to make sure everyone stays until this thing is done.
Including Lavender fucking Whittington.
“Can it wait?” Lavender blinks as though just considering this. “Apparently not.” She seems annoyed by her own answer.
“Well, what is it?”
“I need you to know,” she begins visibly drawing her shoulders higher still. “That I am in love with Tod.”
I almost chuckle. No, princess. No, you are not. Not even a little.
“Okay.” I give a tiny shrug, a one-shouldered one. “That it?”
“Yes.” A dozen things flicker across her face, chief of them, disappointment.
“Okay.” I turn back to the registrar and make a slight gesture for him to continue.
“Wait, doesn’t that bother you?”
“It’s not a requirement.” I don’t spare a glance her way. Maybe that’s why the register thinks I’m asking him.