Three Reckless Words – The Rory Brothers Read Online Nicole Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire Tags Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

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Smart move. If it’s too late for any decent food, at least I can eat my feelings in sugar.

The place is even nicer up close with its black walls with wooden accents hugging those ginormous windows.

Makes sense it would look like a mini palace, considering how much it cost for three days. I’ve never stayed at a luxury rental solo before.

The front looks inviting enough, despite the modern look. Decent porch, cute little fence, solar lights, and I think there’s a garden out back.

Tomorrow, I’ll investigate, after I’ve put a bandage on my life.

I pull up the email with the code and totter awkwardly to the front door.

Whoever said corsets were a must was lying through their teeth. I’m about three seconds away from passing out.

They’ll find me in a day or two and the coroner will have to list ‘wedding dress’ as my cause of death.

Is that better than ‘Holden’ himself?

Ugh, won’t that be lovely?

As I make my slow, painful way to the front door, I spot tall white boxes through the windows that give me a glimpse of the gardens behind the cabin.

I can feel my eyes light up.

Boxes for bees?

I stop and stare for a solid minute, grateful there’s no one around to wonder about the weirdo chick in the wedding dress getting her eyes stuck to the ether.

But bees.

Here, of all freaking places, there are bees.

For the first time today, I crack a smile. Not a small one either, but one of those messy heartfelt crazy grins that makes my lungs hitch with joy.

So, yeah. Tomorrow I’ll definitely check out the garden, first thing. Or maybe if there’s still enough sunlight when I extract myself from the evil dress, I’ll—

My heel snaps and my ankle twists sideways.

My smile breaks like falling glass.

I practically face-plant on the path.

Holy hell, today is so not my day.

In fact, the bees are the only thing stopping today from becoming the worst day in history—and yes, that’s a big fat exaggeration and Mom would tell me I’m being dramatic, but bite me.

Today has sucked baboon ass.

I can be a little dramatic. I deserve it.

So I climb the wooden steps, swearing my way to the front door and punching in the code on the little concealed number panel, praying it’ll work.

I need this to work.

If it doesn’t, I’m probably just going to curl up on the porch in a lump of misery.

Then the door clicks and flashes a green light.

There’s a brief second where I can’t believe my luck before I’m scampering inside and flicking on the lights.

It’s spacious and cute with a large open-plan kitchen. The interior matches the outside, shiny and fancy and new.

But I’m not here for the luxury gas stove or the pretty stone marble island or the leather sofas that could eat me alive.

I’m here for one thing and one thing only.

Scissors. Or a knife.

Though, given my track record with sharp objects and a sense of my own mortality, scissors are a far better option today.

I don’t want to slice open an artery and turn myself into a crime scene. I just want to get this damn dress off.

Four drawers later and a lot of banging around, I find exactly what I need. Meat scissors.

Amazingly sharp and never used by the look of them.

With my phone running low on power, I leave it on the counter, ignoring the five hundred messages and panicked calls that bombarded me all the way here. Then I drag my bag into the luxe bathroom.

I try to avoid my own reflection as I slide the scissors down my bodice and snip away.

The noise feels cathartic, in a way, like shedding an unwanted skin.

Chop, chop, chop.

I keep going, methodically slicing through lace and silk, shredding the torture instrument wound around my chest like a snake.

Finally, it’s off, piling in ribbons of white fabric by my feet.

Now I’m just standing in the fancy lingerie my mom bought for my wedding night—which is weird, by the way—and I’m only t-minus three seconds from crying. It has absolutely nothing to do with how stupid and useless I think garter belts are.

Sighing, I rip the lingerie away and twist the shower on. Steamy water blasts out instantly, filling the room with a soothing heat.

Just in time.

My chest heaves as I step under the spray, and for the first time, I let my feelings bleed.

Ugly sobbing.

Honking.

Blubbering like a baby.

Look, it’s not that I’m sad about trashing my sham of an engagement.

The whole thing was a joke from the beginning, and I’m glad to be rid of it. Plus, my ring finger feels lighter without that hulking diamond on it. Win.

It’s not even the way I shamed myself forever in front of everyone I know. If I ever live this down, I’ll know for sure there’s a benevolent God.

No, the thing that’s demolishing my heart right now is the fact that I’ve just lost my life.


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