Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
When she walked into the living room where I was waiting, I had to hold my breath to keep my tongue in my mouth. The top of the dress was strapless and bound tight around her small body. Her hair was down in silky blonde waves over one shoulder and a clip covered in diamonds pinned part of it back. Her lips were glossed and full and I wanted nothing more than to throw her on the ground and mess up the hours of work it took to make her so painfully perfect.
When I didn’t say anything her smile fell, but I didn’t know what I could say that would do her justice. Instead I just took her hand and led her down to the car.
As we sit in silence now, I realize that probably wasn’t the best idea.
“You look beautiful,” I say, my voice rough from being silent for so long.
“Thank you.” Her whispered words are nearly drowned out by the sounds of traffic.
She won’t even look at me. Her eyes are focused on cars that pass by us, and her hands twitch in her lap. I let out a sigh, knowing I’ve somehow fucked this all up.
I lean forward and reach out, taking her hands in mine. I still don’t know what to say, so I remain silent as I hold her hands and rub my thumbs along the backs of hers. It’s the only way I know to show her what I’m feeling.
“You look nice, too,” she says, and I look up to see she’s finally turned her eyes on me.
There’s a moment that passes between us where I silently apologize. She smiles softly and then it feels like she accepts.
Bringing her hands to my mouth, I turn them over and kiss the palm of each one. As soon as my lips touch her skin I realize that I want to kiss more of her. So much more that it aches. But fate isn’t on my side tonight because right when I look up to do it, the town car comes to a stop. I glance out of the window to see the red carpet waiting and photographers ready to snap the first images of our exit.
“Don’t let go,” I tell her, squeezing her hands in mine.
She nods nervously but steels herself as the driver comes around and opens the door. I step out first and then help get the yards and yards of fluffy material out of the car before she can step out. When she’s able to stand fully I lock her arms around mine and we turn to face the crowd. There’s an audible gasp as silence falls, then just as quickly we’re drowned by the sound of hundreds of cameras clicking while flashes blind us.
“Dane?” she says, and I can hear the rising panic in her voice.
“I’ve got you sweetheart.”
We take a few steps and stop at the designated places on the red carpet. As we go through, I feel her arm relax and some of the tension leave her body.
“Who’s your date tonight, Mr. York?” someone yells from behind the press line.
“This is Willow Adams,” I say, looking down at her. More flashes go off as she smiles up at me. “My fiancée.”
Willow bites her lip and smiles as the crowd erupts with more questions. We ignore them and make our way into the venue. It’s a lot less chaotic once the doors close behind us and we enter the ballroom. There is a band playing big brass music and people are dancing. There’s a long buffet of food and waiters walk around offering the drink specials of the night.
“Ma’am?” one waiter says, offering Willow a tray of pink drinks that shockingly match her dress.
“I guess I have to,” she says, smiling at him.
It rubs me the wrong way, and the guy must sense it because he stops smiling and backs away into the crowd.
“Oh, it tastes like watermelon,” she exclaims, taking another big gulp.
“That’s probably got a lot of alcohol in it,” I say as I decline a passing waiter’s offer of wine and champagne. I want to keep my head tonight, especially if Willow is drinking.
“Are you going to tell on me?” she asks.
I look down and the little vixen winks at me as she finishes her drink and puts the empty glass on a tray.
“I’m no snitch,” I answer.
Her hands tug mine and I’m surprised to find myself smiling as she pulls me toward the dance floor.
“What are we doing?” I ask, even though her intent is clear.
“I’ve never been to a dance before. Shouldn’t we take a couple of turns? For the cameras, of course.” She adds the last line and then realizes what she’s said. She straightens up and looks around. “Or maybe we should blend in. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting what I’m supposed to do.”