Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
How he claimed me in a way that felt deliciously primitive.
What was wrong with me? How could I get off on him being such a controlling asshole? How could I lose myself so completely? When he touched me, common sense flew out the window. I didn’t think about where we were, what he was doing, what would happen if we were caught or any other repercussions.
I sat straight up in the bed when I realized we had never discussed any of the repercussions.
He never used a condom. I wasn’t on birth control. What if I got pregnant? What would people say if I was showing or if I didn’t drink at my wedding? It would reflect badly on him and me, which meant my mother would be furious. The scandal it would cause, and the rumors about paternity.
That could not happen.
I added “look up birth control options” to my mental to-do list for later. Maybe I could broach the subject with Luc, and have his assistant get me something to fix it if it had already happened, or to prevent it from happening. I was expected to bear his children quickly, but not conceive until after the wedding.
I lay on the bed for a few moments. The soft silk sheets felt wonderful against my still-heated skin as I looked around Luc’s room.
It was very him. Tastefully decorated with dark wood and brass hardware, the room blended a minimalist style with impeccable quality and taste. I still hadn’t asked about what our living situation would be, assuming he still wanted to go through with everything.
Somewhere, a clock chimed four times, and I remembered I was supposed to have tea with Mother today at five. I needed to get back to my home and get ready. My red sundress would not be appreciated by her highness, and to be fair, it wouldn’t be the most appropriate attire for high tea at The Wharton.
The company may be less than ideal, but I still looked forward to tea. Even spending time with my mother was worth it to enjoy the softly playing live piano and the massive glass-domed ceiling with its stunning Art Nouveau details. The room was a work of art, and it made me feel like I was in a scene worthy of the greatest painters in the world.
Mother insisted on going to see and be seen. Rose went for the cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches, mostly because it was the only place we wouldn’t be scolded for eating cream cheese or bread. But I loved it for the ambiance. The room simply felt magical. It was the fairy tale people thought I lived in, where even my harpy of a mother was sweet and loving. It was only because conversations could be easily overheard, but I’d take what I could get.
When I left his room, my dress back in place, Henry was waiting for me.
“Hello, miss. Mr. Manwarring insisted I give you a ride home. He was called into a meeting with his father.”
I considered declining the ride, but that would be rude, and Henry, though he had made that file on me, was merely doing his job. There was no need to be rude to him. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I could get from the Financial District to my home in time to change if I took the subway.
“Thank you, Henry. I appreciate the ride.”
“Of course, miss.” He led me downstairs to the black Bentley that had been run up on the curb not too long ago.
I climbed in the back and watched the city go by in the softer, warmer tones of the afternoon light.
Henry was an excellent driver, and I made it back to the mansion with about fifteen minutes to get ready. I ran full tilt to my room, boasting its new door after what my mother had told people was a failed burglary attempt.
She still didn’t believe what happened. She’d been told that Luc and I had an altercation, but she’d refused to hear of it.
As I reached my door, my mother called me from a dressing room a few doors down. Cautiously, I moved to the other door, trying to smooth my hair and my dress so it wasn’t obvious what I had spent the afternoon doing.
The door opened to probably the most horrifying scene I could ever have imagined.
My mother stood in the middle of the room looking through dozens of racks of poofy white monstrosities. Three assistants fluttered around her, refilling her glass, and displaying design books. And Rose was huddled in the corner watching the carnage.
“There you are, perfect. We need to pick your wedding dress.”
“I thought we were going to the Wharton for tea,” I stupidly said.
Her eyes were laser-focused on me the second she heard the whine I wasn’t smart enough to suppress.