Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
But I don’t remember him as being annoying. Then again, he’s also hotter than I remember. Bigger. Better looking. And way more maddening.
All in all, Fin DeWitt is a bit of a mixed bag.
Like he’s not pressing every single one of your hot buttons, whispers a voice in my head. Once more, the voice sounds like Ronny’s. I imagine picking it up by the collar and booting it away. Boof! Be gone.
But what’s done is done, and what’s about to happen I can deal with. I need to keep the potential consequences in the front of my mind, because no man, hot and annoying or otherwise, is going to ruin this for me. I’m holding tight to this opportunity, this chance to get back on my feet.
“It’s seriously classic, Meels!”
“What?” Meels. Oh, that must be me. “It was rude of me.” Even if Fin laughed and I felt his laughter in the center of my chest. “I don’t know where it came from,” I say, sliding my pendant back and forth on its thin chain.
“‘I’m not kissing you and that half-grown Chia Pet’ is a modern classic,” Sarai says. “Someone needs to put that shit in a book—it’d go down in history along with Mr. Darcy’s She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me,” she adds in a tone that’s all Oliver Deubel. Or Mr. Darcy, I suppose.
Dammit. It did sound a bit like that.
As though I could be the Mr. Darcy in this scenario! I suppose we do seem to share moments of monumental social awkwardness.
“I just panicked.” It wasn’t bravery or banter, and there’s nothing half-grown about it! It was just word vomit. Like now—I’m not really sure why I told her, apart from the fact my nerves are rattling like a ring full of keys.
“Real kiss.” Every time Fin’s words float across my frontal lobe, my stomach flips and I get a little flutter somewhere farther south. And then I have to have a stern word with myself, because that is not happening. A quick peck at the end of the ceremony is fine, but anything beyond that is off limits. I won’t ruin this opportunity.
“You’re sure about that?” Sarai flops to the huge bed like a landed fish. Bending her elbow, she rests her cheek on her palm.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Deadly sure.
“Because it sounds like angry flirting to me.”
“What? No!”
“Come on, what man wouldn’t love to hear his mustache looks like a dead caterpillar taped to the top of his lip?” She collapses into a fit of giggles as I groan.
“Stapled,” I correct.
“Huh?”
“I said, ‘I’m not kissing you and that half-grown Chia Pet.’ And he laughed.” Which annoyed me. “And then I said, ‘It looks like someone stapled a dead caterpillar to your lip while you were sleeping.’”
“Like I said—classic!”
“Don’t.” In my imagination, I lean forward and bash my head on the dresser. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
“That shit’s gonna live rent-free in my head forever.”
“I can’t believe I said it. In front of my clients—his friends! What was I thinking?”
“I bet they thought it was hilarious.”
“I suppose Mr. Deubel—Oliver, I mean—laughed.” And Evie smiled sort of serenely. Or maybe secretly.
“I bet Fin laughed too.”
Did that sound wistful?
“How come he’s Fin now, and not Mr. DeWitt?” I ask.
“Because now you’ve met him,” she says, unconcerned. “He’s a lot of fun, don’t you think?”
He’s a lot of something. Trouble, mainly. “You don’t mind, do you? That I’m doing this?”
“Mind that you’re marrying him?”
“Pretend marrying,” I correct. Again. Clutching my robe at the chest, I shuffle around on the stool to face her, struck once more by how beautiful the room is. I’ve been in a lot of bridal suites, but nothing quite like this. The furniture is a modern take on the region’s traditional style: Indonesian dark wood and neutral soft furnishings, intricate carvings and hand-painted artwork. A delicate mother-of-pearl chandelier hangs from a high ceiling, reflecting light in a cascade across the room.
Then there are those breathtaking views—mile upon mile of uninterrupted blue visible from every room. There’s a private terrace with sumptuous daybeds and a dark infinity pool to take cooling dips in. There’s even a private garden, its high stone walls concealing a small tropical paradise and a sexy-looking outdoor shower that I’d never in a million years be brave enough to use. I’m more of a bath girl, anyway. It’s just a shame I won’t get to use the tub in this suite, because it looks like it’d be an experience. The black stone looks so inviting and sits in the center of the room like an altar. I’m sure I’d feel like Cleopatra lounging in it.
“Why would I mind?”
“It’s just, well, earlier, you seemed very enthusiastic about him. Like you might like him, I suppose?” And there’s nothing worse than someone stealing your teenage crush. Except maybe that crush being unrequited. And it did seem unrequited.