Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Still, despite being somewhat spoiled, her fiancé was charming and spontaneous. He’d simply announced that they were going to get married and had presented her with an obscenely large, square-cut diamond ring on their third date. Feeling overwhelmed and flattered, Celia had said yes.
She loved his spontaneity—though at times it could go too far. For instance, just a month ago, he had come into their bedroom and announced that he’d flushed all her birth control down the toilet.
“Madre de Dios—you what?” Celia had demanded, staring at him. “What are you talking about? Why would you do that, Peter?”
“Well, you know Mummy has been complaining that she wants more grandchildren,” he’d pointed out, settling in bed beside her. “And the wedding is so close. I just thought—wouldn’t it be lovely if you were already pregnant by the time we tied the knot? That way we can have babies right away!”
“But I don’t know if I’m ready for kids yet!” Celia had protested. “Dios, Peter—we haven’t even talked about this!”
He’d shrugged.
“Well, we’re talking about it now.”
“What about my career?” she’d protested. “It’s going to be damn hard to run a business while I’m dealing with a baby!”
“We’ll get it a nanny,” Peter told her, brushing off her fears. “And you won’t have to work anyway, if you don’t want to!”
As it turned out, Celia did want to work and she wasn’t ready to stop birth control yet. They’d had a huge fight about it and Peter had finally apologized. Celia had booked an appointment to get some more pills, but then Peter had flown her out to Aspen to get her to decorate another one of his friend’s homes and she’d had to put it off.
Luckily, she hadn’t missed a period yet, though they’d had unprotected sex just the night before after Peter had whined and begged for a solid hour. She really had to get back on the Pill, Celia told herself. Peter wasn’t willing to wear a condom and she wasn’t ready to be a mom yet!
Though to be honest, sex with Peter was so quick, it hardly counted. He wasn’t a very creative lover, which had been kind of disappointing, but Celia told herself that he made up for his lack of performance in the bedroom with other good personality traits. He was generous to a fault. He had offered to buy her a new car almost as soon as they started dating, but Celia had held out so far and hung on to her old Honda Civic.
She wasn’t sure why, exactly—maybe she just didn’t want to be completely sucked into Peter’s world quite yet. She wanted to retain her autonomy—which was another reason she wanted to keep working. She loved her job and her tiny little design firm. Elegant Interiors wasn’t much, but it was hers and she wasn’t quite ready to give it up yet, even if she was soon going to be a wife to one of the richest men in the country.
Besides, she needed something to fall back on if they ever split up. As generous as Peter was, he had insisted on a Prenuptial agreement—which Celia supposed made sense, considering he was worth millions and she was barely worth thousands…well, more like hundreds on most months, to be honest.
But she was no gold digger and never had been, so she had signed the agreement, which stipulated that she got practically nothing in case of a divorce. It was only after she signed that her Mother-in-Law-to-be started treating her with any kind of kindness and calling her “Cece.” Celia didn’t like the nickname much, but it was better than “that woman who’s sunk her claws into you,” which was how Mother Frances had been referring to her when she talked to Peter, prior to the Prenup.
“After all,” Celia had heard her saying to Peter. “Once you get tired of being married to a ‘fiery Latina’ you can get rid of her without a fuss and settle down with one of our kind of people.”
Her words had hurt Celia deeply, but she had never shown it or discussed it with either Peter or his Mother. Growing up in Foster Care had toughened her up and taught her that you have to win people over gradually. You can’t beg them to like you—you can only show that you’re a trustworthy individual who is deserving of respect and affection and hope they understand.
Or so Celia told herself.
But Dios—sometimes her fiancé’s family really got on her nerves. The way his sisters were constantly on juice cleanses and talked about nothing but the latest fashions or what the Kardashians—who they apparently knew personally—were doing. They were vapid and silly and didn’t seem to have anything in their heads but gossip about celebrities and their own social circle of which Celia definitely wasn’t a part. Whenever she tried to make small talk, they just stared at her blankly. She didn’t fit in with them at all, no matter how hard she tried.