Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
“What?” Her mind seemed to flit from one thing to the next every other second and he couldn’t quite keep track of what she was on about this time. He wasn’t sure if he found the quality annoying or endearing. All he knew was that he wasn’t bored.
“Just people… from all walks of life. Out enjoying a sunny day at the beach.”
He glanced around dubiously and to him it didn’t look like anyone was having a particularly good time. Some were flexing for cameras—craving the attention and approval of strangers online—harassed young parents were dealing with recalcitrant, unhappy kids; teenagers were vying for one another’s attention keen on making the exact right impression; others were engaged in games of soccer or rugby or volleyball, their laughter and cheers a little too loud and boisterous to be genuine. It all struck him as too fake, too fucking desperate and disingenuous. And yet Fern was staring at it all with the kind of naive wistfulness that made Cade feel jaded and cynical.
They walked all the way from Third to First beach and back again and by the time they reached the steps leading back to street level she was looking pale and peaked.
“We should rest,” he told her and immediately regretted his gruffness when her face fell and she gave him a wary look.
“You look tired,” he pointed out.
“I’m f—”
“You’re not fine,” he interrupted harshly.
He sat down on an empty patch of warm sand and took hold of her small hand to tug her down beside him. “Come here.”
She folded her legs beneath her and sat down without further protest, then smiled in delight as she buried her fingers in the powdery white sand and brought up fistfuls to sift through her fingers.
Chapter
Eight
Fern wouldn’t admit it, but she definitely needed this break, and she was happy Cade had suggested it. As she watched the warm, soft sand fall from her fingers, she smiled at her new husband’s grim profile and bumped her shoulder against his bicep in a bid to get his attention.
His head turned immediately, and he pinned her with his stare.
“This was a good idea,” she told him.
He made a rough sound of acknowledgment in the back of his throat before turning his gaze back on the ocean and saying without a hint of humor or irony, “I only have good ideas.”
God, Fern really liked the unapologetic arrogance of him.
“Yes, I have found your ideas to be somewhat adequate so far,” she concurred and he swung that intimidating stare back on her.
“Somewhat adequate?” he repeated sounding affronted and she stifled a giggle. She didn’t reply, letting him stew over her words while she continued to sift sand through her fingers, watching the world around her as she did so. Everybody just seemed so carefree and happy and she envied them that.
“Have you heard from my stepfather yet?” she broke the silence to ask.
“Hah, he’s apoplectic, left an incoherent rage fest of a message on my phone. Threatened to sue, breach of contract, the works.”
“Breach of contract?” she asked, concerned that the repercussions of her defection would be much worse than she’d anticipated.
Cade gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Wishful thinking on his part. If he hadn’t delayed the sale for months, he might have a leg to stand on, but since no documents were signed and he was in serious negotiations with at least two other parties, his claim is weak at best. He’s just flinging shit around and hoping something sticks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about his message?”
“I’m telling you now,” he pointed out, his voice mild. “Besides, it wasn’t important. Don’t worry about it. Did he call you?”
“I’ve had my phone on do not disturb mode since Thursday night,” she confessed, and his dimples deepened, even though he didn’t smile.
“Good girl, that’s bound to drive him a little insane.” The gruffly voiced praise did odd things to her stomach. She flushed and her breathing quickened. In that moment, Fern recognized that she would do or say anything to get more words of approval and praise from her aloof husband.
That realization shamed and embarrassed her. She’d been so wholly deprived of any and all positive reinforcement since her mother’s death that a few reluctantly conceded words of mild praise from a taciturn man who didn’t like her much were enough to make her glow.
“Do you think so?” The soft question emerged before she could stop it, and he gave her a quizzical look.
“Do I think it’ll drive him insane?” he clarified, and she was grateful that he hadn’t understood that what she’d really meant was do you think I’m a good girl.
Good God, where was her pride?
“Uh, yes.” She was happy to save face.
“Absolutely. He’s used to having you at his beck and call. It’ll drive him nuts knowing that you’re beyond his control and influence.”