Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
His gray eyes dampen as he purses his lips.
“I thought about it from time to time,” he says. “But I was still too in love with both of them to seriously consider finding someone new. And even then, I knew myself. I knew I’d keep her at arm’s length, afraid to lose someone yet again.”
By my calculations, Dorian, Burke, and Nicola’s mother passed a little less than two decades ago.
That’s an awful long time to spend alone.
“My mom always likes to say there are different kinds of love,” I tell him. “Friendship love, romantic love, soulmate love, companionship . . .”
“She’s a wise woman, your mother.” He sips his water. “And to that, I would add, love . . . is priceless. It’s the one thing money can’t buy.”
If he only knew . . .
“Genuine love, that is,” he clarifies. “When it’s real, you can’t put a price tag on it. You can’t bargain it or sell it or trade it. The only problem is, this world is full of people who think differently. People who marry for money or prestige or survival.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Why do you want to marry my son, Briar?” His question comes out of left field and nearly makes me choke on my drink.
I take a generous gulp, swallowing away the irritation in my throat.
“What do you love about him?” His head is tilted to the side as he waits for my response. “How did you know he was the One?”
Redmond is a kind man, and he may be in his eighties, but he’s as sharp as a tack.
This is nothing more than a test.
In an unfortunate turn of events, my mind turns blank, providing zero assistance whatsoever as I try to think about what I like about Burke.
In the weeks leading up to this, Burke seemed to be more focused on the two of us memorizing the paper versions of each other rather than trying to forge any kind of real connection.
“I’m sorry.” I give him a nervous chuckle. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“It’s all right, dear. Take your time.”
I run through my earliest memories of Burke, which are all just a few months old at best. The first time I saw him was in a staff meeting shortly after I started working at his firm. There was no denying the man could command a room, but there’s nothing sexy about making your employees cower in fear.
All the times I saw him after that were in passing mostly.
In hallways.
By the elevator.
Coming and going.
He always looked through me, never at me.
Last month when he called me into his office, I was 100 percent convinced I was being let go for some unknown reason. My hand trembled as I pushed his door open, and heat crept up my neck as I strolled toward his oversize mahogany desk.
There’s nothing about Burke that puts a person at ease.
He isn’t warm or welcoming.
He’s damn near impossible to get to know.
He isn’t funny or romantic or charming.
But more than any of that, he’s not Dorian.
With Redmond waiting patiently for my response, I make an executive decision to describe how I fell for Dorian, without making it obvious.
Despite only having spent three days with that man, I could wax on about him until the sun comes up and never run out of things to say.
“The day I met your son,” I begin, “I wasn’t looking for anyone. Isn’t that how it always goes?”
He smiles, nodding and listening.
“Anyway, he seemed to have this chip on his shoulder,” I continue, “not exactly approachable, you know? But then we started talking. And he was funny. Sarcastic funny, not ha ha funny. That told me he was intelligent. And he had this way of looking at me that made the rest of the world fade away. It’s hard to find someone like that. It’s like he was present. Truly present. Most of the time, you’re lucky to get half of someone’s attention on a good day, but he gave me all of his.”
Redmond’s expression is tender, much like his heart, and I hate lying to him in this way, but in a roundabout way, I’m also telling the truth.
I’m in love with his son . . .
Just not the son he thinks.
“That first night, we never ran out of things to talk about,” I go on. “And the more we talked, the more we realized how much we had in common. We shared a lot of the same opinions about things, like love and relationships and commitment. And when we weren’t talking about those sorts of things, he was telling me about his work. I knew right away how passionate he was about his job, and that’s another thing that’s hard to find these days. So many people are afraid to chase their dreams, but he was living his.”