Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“William!” Freya hammered on the door again. “It’s still snowing, and you aren’t moving!”
“Christ, I’m ready, I’m ready.” The door swung open, and William stepped out.
He wore a white collared shirt under a maroon jumper, navy trousers, and shiny dark brown shoes, and I could swear that every inch of his clothing was perfectly tailored to his wide shoulders and unfortunately sculpted arms. His dark hair was still wet, and it glistened off the overhead lights.
I wasn’t going to talk about his beard.
It was wet.
I could see the water droplets.
I didn’t need my brain to go there. At all.
If I did, I’d start thinking about what was under the shirt and jumper combo, and then I’d never think about anything else.
It had been bad enough trying not to think about kissing him on the watchtower. At the time it had been nothing more than a fleeting impulse, a flash of an idea that lasted no longer than the blink of an eye, yet as soon as we’d arrived back at the castle and parted ways to sleep, it’d come back.
Lingering ever since.
If the thought of kissing William was a tornado, the inability to get it out of my mind was the destruction such a storm left in its wake.
That was a warning.
That it was a bad idea. That this whole shebang was a gross misjudgement on both our parts, but especially mine.
I didn’t want to kiss William.
It would only lead to bad things. Bad choices. Bad mistakes.
But oh, at the same time… I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have his lips against mine.
Just for a second. Half of one, even.
“Thank God. Finally,” Freya said with a huff. “I need Grandpa out of here before Mum arrives.”
“I know, I know. There’s enough drama with your wedding without them spending unnecessary time together.”
“Will you stop referring to my wedding as a drama?”
“I shall, as soon as you stop being dramatic.” He tugged on a lock of her hair, making her frown at him. He ignored that and turned to me. “Are you sure you’re all right being left with Reese Witherspoon over here?”
Freya pinched the bridge of her nose, dipping her chin, and her shoulders heaved as she took a deep breath in. “William.”
“I’ll be fine. She’s not that bad,” I said, trying to diffuse the situation.
“Oh, it’s sweet that you’re so optimistic,” he replied dryly. “Text me if you need help.”
“I’m sure I can manage.”
“Mmph,” was the muffled grunt of dissent that escaped him as he glanced at his sister once more. “If you insist. I’ll see you later.”
I smiled, wrapping my arms around my waist. “See you later.”
He dipped his head down and kissed my cheek. It was the gentlest of touches, a fleeting brush of his lips against my skin, and the shiver than ran down my spine in response was most unwelcome.
Why had he—
Right.
As far as Freya knew, we were together. It would be weird if he didn’t show affection before he left.
Almost as if he knew I was uncomfortable, William winked at me in the doorway and quickly disappeared from view.
“Thank God he’s gone,” Freya said, rubbing her hand down her face. “Let’s go and hope we can fix this before it’s too late and the whole wedding goes to shit, and I can’t show my face around here for the next ten years.”
Huh.
Maybe William had a point about her.
***
“Angus, you eejit! Angus, you eejit! Where’s the eejit? Where’s the eejit?”
I jumped at the squawking noise coming from the right side of me, and I almost tripped down the remaining stairs when a white-and-yellow… thing… flew right in front of me, circled, and finally landed on the newel post at the bottom of the railing, perfectly perching on the round knob.
A bird.
It was a bird.
A cockatiel, to be exact.
Its body was yellow and white, with the tail, wing tips, and head a brighter yellow than elsewhere. A big, funky feathery ponytail stuck up and back from its head, and the orange splotches on its cheeks reminded me a lot of Pikachu’s cheeks.
“Oh, Chewy,” Morag said, rushing into the hallway after the bird. “I told you to stay in the living room!”
Chewy?
“Where’s Angus? Angus the eejit! Angus the eejit!” Chewy chirped, tilting its head side to side.
“No, no, stop that,” she fussed, flapping her hands. “He’ll hear you.”
“You should know better than to say those things in front of him,” Freya said, walking down to the bottom of the staircase. “He picks it up too easily.”
“Oh, I know,” Morag said, looking at her. “It just slipped out. He put the forks with the mugs again.”
“Why does he even empty the dishwasher?” Freya asked. “You literally pay someone to do that.”
Morag sighed. “I don’t know. And why he puts the crockery in the dish cupboard is beyond me.”