Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
"So why then did he marry me?"
Enfin! Finally! Greta's lips slowly curved in a smirk. "Do you not know—-"
"That his mother dislikes you so much—-" Charlee-Mae silently thanked Charlotte for being so thorough when it came to conducting background checks on prospective matches. "—-she would rather donate her shares to charity?"
Greta could feel herself shaking in anger. This woman had let her think she knew nothing about Philippe's reasons for signing up for that stupid mail-order marriage, and now—-
"If you think for one moment," she spat out, "you can play games with me and win—-"
Charlee-Mae couldn't make herself lie. "I do, actually."
Greta struggled not to throw the mug of hot chocolate at the other woman's face. Fuck this bitch! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Charlee-Mae was doing her best not to stare. Just like Ne-Yo, she had always believed that girls were sexier when they were mad, but the scary transformation of Greta's face as she went from annoyed to outraged was proof that there were also exceptions to the rule.
Greta took a deep breath. "Sandra—-"
"Adores me, by the way."
Greta nearly screamed. Why was this woman so good at pushing her buttons?
"Are you okay?" Charlee-Mae couldn't help feeling concerned again. "You look a little..." Tomato-like? Frightening? Ugly? Oh dear Lord, Charlotte was right! She really did have the vocabulary of a sixth-grader.
"Stop faking things, you bitch!"
"Hypertensive," Charlee-Mae burst out at the same time, and she couldn't help but give herself a congratulatory little pat. 'Hypertensive' was a big word, and Charlotte would be so proud—-wait! Did Greta just say she was what?
Charlee-Mae looked at the other woman reproachfully. "I'm genuinely concerned, you know. You look like you're suffering from hypertension, and—-"
"Do you really think we're playing a game here?"
"If we weren't, you wouldn't have sent me that email."
Greta could have cried at that point. Finally, dammit! Finally, she was getting somewhere with this fat American idiot that Philippe had been unlucky enough to have as a wife.
"It was to let you know your place, just that. Whatever Philippe has told you is a lie, and you'll soon know this for yourself. Once Sandra has transferred her shares to him, he will—-" Greta was momentarily distracted when the other woman made a show of calling someone on her iPhone. "He will dump you and marry—-"
"Bonjour, mon mari!"
Greta's eyes nearly bulged. Did this woman just call Philippe?
"I am here at the cafe...oui, that one, and oh, I'm also with Gretel—-"
"Greta!"
"I mean, Gretchen—-"
"Greta, you bitch!"
"Can we just call her your sister-in-law? I keep forgetting her name, and yes, please do join us. Salut!"
Greta burst into speech as soon as she saw the other woman ending the call. "What do you plan—-you bitch!" The other woman was making a call! Again!
"Bonjour, Maman!"
Greta was so filled with rage she could barely breathe. Had this bitch really just called Sandra?
"I am so sorry to ask this out of the blue, but do you have time to come down to the lobby, Maman? There's this cafe...oui, that is the one. Your two daughters-in-law are here—-"
Greta's teeth gnashed against each other when the other woman suddenly laughed. Oh, that laugh, that fucking, annoying laugh—-
"You did not hear wrong, Maman. Both of us are indeed here. Me, your favorite daughter-in-law, and then there's your other daughter-in-law who is not your favorite, Grendel—-"
"Pute! Salope! Garce!"
"Oh, wait. Je suis désolée, Maman. I forgot that Grendel happens to be a monster from Beowulf—-"
There was that laugh again, and Greta could no longer help it.
Charlee-Mae gasped as the other woman suddenly snatched her iPhone out of her hand before smashing its screen into pieces with the heel of her boot.
"Hey! I just got that phone—-" And because she just couldn't resist it, she then added, "From Philippe—-"
"You bitch!"
"It takes one to know one, I hear."
"I fucked Philippe every day the first year we came together—-" Greta finally had a chance to laugh when she saw the other woman flinch. "Oui, salope!" Yes, you bitch! "Every day, we would fuck and fuck and—-"
"Qu'est-ce que tu fous là?" What the hell are you doing here?
Greta started to answer, but Philippe had already gone down on one knee and was reaching for his wife's hand like he was about to fucking propose marriage. Putain! Fuck!
Philippe grimly studied his wife's face, which for once perfectly concealed her thoughts. "Mon coeur?" His voice was low and taut, but the words could be heard throughout the cafe, with all the other guests having gone silent as soon as he had walked in.
"Talk to me. Please."
Charlee-Mae had never imagined her husband could look so desperate and haunted.
"Your wife, Philippe—-"
Philippe didn't take his gaze off Charlee-Mae even as he cut his sister-in-law off. "Ferme ton clape-merde." Shut the fuck up.
"—-is insane!"
Philippe stiffened, but before he could tell Greta to get lost, Charlee-Mae suddenly cupped his face, and Philippe froze in shock as his wife looked down at him with big, puppy-like eyes.