Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Behave. Your mother can hear you.” She blushes and lifts the device to her ear. “Hi, Mrs. Brewer.”
I can’t hear what my mother says. I only know it makes Blakely laugh.
She moseys around the room, totally at ease. She chats with my mom about our wedding, filling in details, which I’m pretty sure she fabricates, and what led to our decision.
“Oh, you know—tequila,” Blakely says, lifting her gaze to mine. A playful smile kisses her lips as she laughs at my mom’s reply. “That whole night is such a blur. But that’s how it’s supposed to be, right? When you’re in love and marrying the man of your dreams, you get lost in the bliss.”
I raise my brows approvingly. “The man of your dreams?” I whisper.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Brewer, that sounds lovely. Let’s have lunch when we get back to Tennessee.” Blakely’s eyes widen. “Absolutely. Here’s Renn.”
I take the phone from a flustered Blakely.
“Okay, Mom,” I say, my heart beating fast. “I need to go take care of my wife.”
“I love this for you, Renn. I really do. She sounds like a delight.”
“I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Renn?” Mom asks.
“Yeah?”
“Coffee, dogs, and she’s absolutely stunning.”
Will she want coffee or tea? Does she like dogs, or should I put Willard and Winifred in the kennel when she comes to visit? And it helps to know what she looks like …”
I grin.
“Are you happy?” I ponder the question for a few moments, taking stock of how I feel. Am I happy?
I shouldn’t be. I should be afraid of losing my contract, fucking up Dad’s deal, and dealing with my father when we return to the States. Of being married. But the longer I think about it, the more evident it becomes that the only thing that makes me unhappy is the idea of going back home.
Is it the excitement of something new that’s giving me a shot of adrenaline? Maybe. Is it being back in Australia, a place that feels a lot like home? Could be. Or am I truly enjoying being around a woman who has fascinated me from the moment I met her but has been off-limits from day one?
My stomach knots. “Mom?”
“Yes, son?”
I watch Blakely inspect her manicure and feel a deep sense of satisfaction from knowing I did something to make her feel good.
“I am,” I say. “I really think I might be.”
She sighs happily. “We’ll talk soon. Enjoy your honeymoon.”
“Love you. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, sweet boy.”
I exhale and turn off my phone, tossing it onto the sofa.
Blakely shrugs. “Is it weird that I just met my mother-in-law for the first time on a phone call?”
“Nah. Everything I do has a bit of irregularity involved. It’s to be expected.”
She laughs.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Starving.”
“Great. Follow me.”
We enter the kitchen to a spread of food delivered just before Foxx came by with the ring.
“I didn’t know what you like,” I say, a rush of frustration over that simple fact filling me again. “So I ordered a few things.”
“A few things?” She leans over the table and inspects the dishes. “There are three, four—five main courses here.” Her head twists to me. “You could’ve just asked what I wanted and saved yourself a hefty sum of cash.”
I chuckle, opening a bottle of wine and pouring us each a glass. “Yes, but you were supposed to be enjoying yourself. I didn’t want to put the burden of what’s for dinner on your shoulders.”
She slumps before shoving off the table. “That’s the sweetest thing.”
“Wow. Don’t set your expectations too high.”
She laughs, accepting a glass from me. “What are my options?”
“We have Jerusalem artichokes with local mushrooms, scotch fillet, a mussel dish with leeks and saffron, and beef tartare with karkalla seaweed. And a chocolate cake for dessert.”
“You got a chocolate cake?”
“I promised you one for your birthday and then kind of married you instead.”
She hums and takes a seat at the table. “Look at me now, getting the best of both worlds.”
“I’d hold off on saying that.”
“Why?” She watches me sit across from her, smug. “Do you have plans to show me something better?”
My cock twitches to life. I want to answer her, to tell her exactly what I plan on showing her. But if I do, it’ll only embolden her. It’ll drive her much crazier if I ignore it.
“What do you usually have for dinner?” I ask, taking artichokes from the dish.
She blinks, momentarily confused. Her recovery is quick and rather impressive. “It depends if I’m alone or with someone.”
I spear a piece of vegetable a bit harder than necessary.
“If I’m alone, I’ll do a simple pasta or takeout,” she says. “But if I’m with someone, I’ll make chicken or a steak—whatever they like that I have on hand.”
“It’s good you won’t have that problem anymore.”
She scoops a mussel onto her plate. “Oh really? Why?”