Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
When Lilah Goodluck saves the life of Good Witch Willow as they’re crossing a busy L.A. street, the last thing she expects is five unwanted predictions as a reward. Who gives someone the winning lotto numbers then tells them they’ve only got a week to live? And who believes in that nonsense anyway?
But when the first three predictions come true within twenty-four hours, Lilah’s disbelief turns to mild panic. She’s further horrified when she nearly runs a car off the road that belongs to Alistair Lennox, who just happens to be the illegitimate son of the British king.
While Alistair is intrigued by her preposterous story, Lilah is adamant about resisting the heat between her and the playboy prince. If she denies he’s her soulmate, then the last prediction can’t come true, right? As the days count down, they become maybe friends…and then maybe more. But between the relentless paparazzi and some disapproving royals, finding time for love isn’t easy, especially when her days may be numbered.
Red White and Royal Blue meets The Last Holiday in this delightfully quirky novel from the New York Times bestselling author of End of Story, about a woman who unexpectedly finds "fall in love with a prince" at the top of her bucket list.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Friday
Good Witch Willow is unhappy at me for keeping her waiting. This is made obvious by the way she glares up at me through her wire-rim glasses while tugging on one of the crystal pendants around her neck. Like it is going to take help from beyond to stop her from slapping me silly or something.
“Lilah,” says my best friend with much patience, “why are you like this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just ask her a question already.”
Rebecca (not Becca or Becky) does have a point. It’s not like I haven’t known this moment was coming for weeks now. She wanted to do something fun for her birthday and every other entertainer had already been booked. A lot of birthday parties in March, apparently. Guess everyone has sex in the summertime.
The private room at the back of the bespoke cocktail bar off Santa Monica Boulevard is close to capacity and a song by Hozier plays over the speakers. We stand at one of the tall round bar tables with the remains of a charcuterie board and a flickering tea light in a vintage jar. The walls are painted a bright turquoise, but the vibe is relaxed. It should be a great night. I want it to be for my friend’s sake. But I am anxious and distracted and not in the mood at all, dammit.
“I honestly don’t have one,” I say. “I’m sorry. I told you this wasn’t my thing.”
Rebecca groans and downs more than a mouthful of her whiskey sour. It’s her party, she can self-medicate if she wants to—and apparently, she does.
“What do people normally ask?”
Good Witch Willow is older with white skin and long gray hair in a braid. She’s exactly what I imagined a witch would look like when I was a child. A dramatic long lace dress and plenty of chunky jewelry. Instead of answering me, she glances at her smartwatch and announces, “That’s your two hours up. I’m out of here.”
Rebecca gives me a look.
Good Witch Willow wastes no time, packing her tarot cards, a travel-size crystal ball, and a collection of brightly colored crystals back into her large velvet tote.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Rebecca for the second time. “Though your work bestie hogging her for over forty minutes to ask about his fantasy football team didn’t help. And your neighbor that needed that emergency love potion. I wonder if she’ll actually manage to find Keanu Reeves and persuade him to drink it.”
Rebecca just raises her brows.
“You have to give it to her, it’s a beautiful dream,” I say. “But my point is you, my friend, are popular. There are a lot of people here. The chance of Good Witch Willow getting around to everyone was always going to be low.”
“Just admit you’re all up in your feelings about your boyfriend again.”
“I am worried about Josh.” I take a sip from my gimlet. “He said the headache was really bad, that it was messing with his vision.”
“That actually doesn’t sound good,” she reluctantly agrees.
“Yeah. I really think he needs to see a doctor, but you know what dudes are like.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve pretty much made it my life mission to not know what dudes are like.” She takes another sip of her drink. “You’re going to rush home to play nurse instead of going dancing with me, aren’t you?”
“Rebecca, can you predict the future?” I fake gasp. “And you never told me... That hurts. Wait. Did you know that was going to hurt?”
She gives me an amused smile and raises the remains of her drink in a toast. We’ve been best friends since sharing a dorm room in college about a decade ago. She’s petite with dark hair and olive skin. I, on the other hand, am more of a robust blonde. They didn’t spare the tits and ass when they made me.
“Go on. Abandon me, then,” she says. “But you owe me.”
“How about I take you out to dinner next week? To that Japanese place you love?”
“No complaining when I eat all the salmon sashimi.”
“Agreed. Happy almost birthday. Talk to you tomorrow.” I set my mostly empty gimlet on the bar and give her a hug. “Don’t go home with Priya. You know you’ll only regret it. Again.”
“But she’s brilliant and beautiful and emotionally unavailable. She’s exactly my type.”
“Oh my God. It’s like you just proved my point.”
“Get out of here, loser.”
I smack a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Rebecca. Make good choices.”
Despite the late hour, there are still plenty of people around. The road is glossy black from a recent storm, and puddles on the sidewalk reflect the lights from the bars and restaurants. I huddle down into my cardigan against the cold night air. There’s a small convenience store open on the other side. Just perfect for picking up Tylenol since I have no idea how much we have at home, and Josh might need more. Better safe than sorry.