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)
“My apologies, madam,” Henry said, unfazed.
He was going to receive a rather agreeable Christmas bonus this year.
“I demand you fire him immediately.” She stomped her foot in a manner not far off from a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“No, and before you ask, I won’t be covering your dry-cleaning bill either.”
“This is silk!” she screeched.
“Oh no, such a shame. And on a white dress. Too bad.” I didn’t bother hiding my sarcasm. “We must get you home so you can change immediately before that sets.” I ushered her toward the front door.
“We aren’t done talking,” she complained.
“We are. It is very simple. Amelia is mine. I take care of what is mine. She will get what she wants, not what you want.” I opened the door and all but pushed her out.
“You can’t just—”
“You might want to be more careful, or just avoid wearing white dresses.”
She narrowed her eyes at me.
Good, she was getting all my backhanded comments today.
But just in case, I wanted to make this next one crystal clear. I needed to leave absolutely no room for misunderstanding.
“This time, Amelia will get the wedding she wants, not you. If you insist on inserting yourself, we can just go down to the courthouse and take care of it during lunch. Then I’ll release the photos to the society pages and make it clear we were forced to do that because the mother of the bride kept trying to upstage her daughter.” I looked her up and down and let my lip curl in disgust. “As if that were even possible.”
“You don’t know who you’re talking to.” She raised a finger at me, visibly shaking with rage. “I can make your life very difficult.”
“No, you don’t know who you are dealing with. If I find another bruise on my future wife, you and I will talk again. And I promise it will be a far less pleasant conversation than this has been. I will rain so much hellfire on you that by the time I’m done, Harrison’s parentage won’t even be the least of your fucking problems.”
The blood drained from her face, and I knew I had made my point and that I needed to get my PI on her immediately because there was more to find out.
Mrs. Astrid made to say something else, but I let the heavy wooden door fall into place.
“Sir, who was that awful woman?” Henry asked behind me.
“That is a woman who is determined to find out the hard way that no one touches what is mine.”
CHAPTER 8
AMELIA
“Ithink I want to wear the green Vera Wang dress this evening,” I told Sarah, my maid, as I sat at my vanity.
I had commissioned the dress on a whim after this year’s fashion shows. Mother didn’t know, of course. It had been my own little rebellious secret. Until now, I had kept it hidden in the back of my closet, lacking the courage to wear the daring dress out in public.
Sarah, who often assisted my sister Rose and me with getting ready for all the events we were required to attend, stared at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to change my mind before moving to retrieve the dress from its hiding place.
I sighed. One more endless event. Another boring night representing our family at a charity or some other function, playing dress-us-up like little dolls so the tabloids would take our picture.
“That dress isn’t appropriate.” Rose was perched on the edge of my bed, her green eyes getting big and round.
“Nonsense. It’s a perfect gown that is chic and a modern classic.”
I sat in front of my vanity and studied myself.
The girl in the mirror was the same girl who had always been there. Despite everything that happened with Luc, there was no change in my appearance. I wasn’t sure what I expected, to look older maybe, wiser, somehow more mature? Or maybe I expected to have a glow after the most incredibly erotic experience of my life.
“Have you come up with a name for this one yet?” she asked.
“A name?”
“For Mr. Manwarring. I think you referred to Mr. Dubois as Mr. Dubious.” Rose giggled and lay back on the blush pink all-season duvet.
My room was beautifully decorated for me. When I was six. The walls were a perfect porcelain white with pale pink trim and gold filigree accents. It was bright and light and even had details that fit the original beaux arts style. Everything in the room dripped over-the-top wealth and decadence that I had adored… when I was a child.
After taking classes at NYU, I had tried to convince my mother to allow me to tone it all down to something more appropriate for an adult woman, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Trying to take a deep breath, my chest tightened instead; everything around me was cluttered and stifling.