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)
“Do you think we’ll get an annulment?” I ask suddenly. “It seems a bit extreme that we might need a divorce for a wedding that was a mistake, doesn’t it?”
“I guess we’ll find out Monday. The good news is, according to my lawyer, a divorce means you can take me for a lot of money.”
“That’s not why I asked,” I retort, stiffening. “This not only has the potential to ruin my business, but I could end up with people running after me like they do poor Evie. Only they’d be throwing fruit at me instead!”
“Fruit?”
“Like they did her ex—I would be hated. Vilified!”
I find Fin’s hand suddenly folded around my thigh, and heat flashes through me. It’s not like he’s touching me inappropriately—his hand is halfway between my knee and my knickers—but it might as well be inside them for my body’s reaction to it.
“I’m sorry I said that. It was a joke.”
“A bad one.”
“Maybe.” His fingers flex a touch.
My skin prickles, and I want to move away. Or climb on top of him. This is such an odd place to develop a new erogenous zone, I think as I pause to untangle a clumsy tongue.
“We have to be careful, Fin. What we did yesterday must stay secret.”
“Which part of yesterday?” His words end in a playful curl.
“Please be serious. None of this can come out. Not the fact that we may or may not have faked a wedding ceremony. That we might actually be married—that we’ve potentially consummated that marriage.”
“Well and truly,” he adds.
“It could look like a stunt—like I’ve married you purely for the publicity. It would ruin my business, Fin.” Once and for all.
“Do wedding planners take a vow of celibacy?” he asks, not quite giving up on his amusement. He just doesn’t seem to get it. “Do they swear to remain single?”
“I know it probably looks like I’ll do anything for money, but that’s not the case.” I lift my hand, thinking to move his away, but it would be too obvious—I would look too obviously bothered by it. So I scratch my nose instead.
“I know that.” At last, his tone turns serious.
“But how can you? You don’t know me. I have my reasons for agreeing to this, not that I ever thought we’d be married for real, but—”
“You don’t think I get what kind of person you are?”
I duck my head and give it a short shake. “You barely know me.”
His hand slides away, and breath whooshes out of me. And because I can feel him looking at me, I suck another in. I’d rather him think I have asthma than realize I like his hands on me. That I’m half turned on already.
“I know enough,” he says, his tone serious. “I’m a good judge of character.”
I think it’s probably more the case that Fin just sees the good in people. He seems the type. To him, everything is easy breezy and nothing is truly serious.
“You don’t believe me?”
I make a careless gesture. What do I know? Just that he’s a raging flirt and has a black belt in teasing. I also know, according to his best friends, the people who know him best in the world, he’s a player. He’s super hot and super wealthy, and I’m reasonably sure his tongue game would impress even the most hardcore lesbian. My flashbacks are very comprehensive. If not in length, then in sensory detail.
Any of that, never mind all of that, would make him popular. And greedy, I suppose. But beyond all that playboy stuff, I sense Fin DeWitt is essentially a good human. I mean, he’s no saint, but at least his life isn’t falling apart. And that’s sort of attractive.
“I wonder if Evie and Oliver got married,” I say, changing the subject. No need to dwell on how not awful he is. Or how his cologne makes me want to bury my nose in his neck to discover its notes.
“They’d better be, after the trouble we’ve gone to.” He pauses, and I feel his eyes on me. “It’s been a good kind of trouble. After that night in the closet, I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”
I like the sound of that. Him thinking about me.
“I’ve thought about you,” he adds. “Wondered how you were after, well, everything.”
I turn to face him, curling my knees onto the seat, pulling a throw pillow into my chest. “You must’ve thought I was unhinged.” My words feel flimsy and inconsequential.
“No. You were just too lovely to be crying. I wanted to make you feel better. Cheer you up, I guess.”
“You certainly did that,” I murmur, plucking at the edges of the pillow. Until I find the crook of his finger under my chin.
“Just you and me, locked away from the world.” He lifts my gaze to his. “I hope you know that moment meant something to me. It was so special.”