Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
She needs saving.
I, a total stranger, am more than ready to give it.
Maura Beck is way out of my league. How she even got into my orbit in the first place remains a mystery to me. I don’t believe in serendipity, or fate, or that shit about people meant to be together.
But…How is this possible?
Someone like her with someone like me?
It’s like a hundred threads of whatever has woven together to pull us toward each other. That’s the only explanation I can think of. Part of me is equally baffled and amazed that she’s mine, and the other?
I’m just happy to be here with her.
And when some grade-A asshole tries to come between us, I don’t know whether to be impressed or amused that he thinks he can take me on—even with his asshole friends.
See, violence is not always the answer, and I’ve never had issues with my temper before, but the moment he shows an ounce of disrespect to Maura?
All bets are f*cking off.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MAURA
“Marry me, Maura.”
The ringing in my ears gets louder and louder until I can barely stop myself from slapping my palms over them and screaming my lungs out. The patrons disappear, and the entire restaurant is just a blur.
My eyes zero in on Martin—his perfectly slicked back blonde hair, the perfect bow tie, the perfect Armani suit, the perfect $250k Patek Philippe shining on his wrist, the perfect row of white teeth.
That’s Martin for you. Everything has to be perfect. I mean, he once refused to wear a jacket because of one speck of dust, dust no one could see unless they had microscopic vision. Not to mention the time someone accidentally stepped on his black Ferragamo leather dress shoes, and he straight-up refused to attend the party until he got a new one.
God, it must be exhausting being him.
He’s still speaking, his mouth forming words I cannot hear. I feel myself dissociate, my mind wandering to a place far away from here, where he’s not across from me, and I’m blissfully free of his presence.
Until everything snaps back into focus.
“...We make sense, baby. Everyone says so. We’re a good-looking couple. We’re both rich. We belong to the same country club, have the same circle of friends.” He leans forward and takes my hand in his. I resist the urge to pull it back. “We’ll be the power couple everyone will envy. We’ll take trips around the world, buy the yacht you’ve always wanted, throw parties everyone will kill to get an invite to.”
It takes an insane amount of effort not to scoff. Yacht I’ve wanted? I hate the beach, especially the feeling of sand under my feet. He’s the one who’s been eyeing the $34-million superyacht to add to his fleet.
I guess even after knowing each other for two decades, the only one he really ever listens to is himself. I’m going to bet everything I have that he has no idea about my favorite color.
My eyes stray toward the shrimp soup in front of me, and I heave a sigh. It’s either he doesn’t know I’m allergic to seafood, or he intends to kill me right here, right now. I’m leaning toward the latter.
“So, what do you say? We can get married next month in Tuscany or Lake Como or even the Amalfi Coast. The beaches there are divine. We can have the ceremony barefoot. Imagine the society pages filled with photos of our wedding. It will be the wedding of the century!”
And there it is, the real reason he wants to marry me. Not because he loves me and wants to be with me forever. No. Martin wants the prestige and bragging rights that come with being married to Alfred Beck’s daughter. He sees me as a notch on his belt, something to help him move higher up the society ladder.
Besides, it doesn’t escape my notice that all of our dates are in places where celebrities, millionaires, billionaires, and trust fund babies hang out. It’s never somewhere intimate where it’s just the two of us. What’s the point? Martin needs to be seen. All of his grand gestures are for him and never for me. It’s about what makes him look good to others. Never mind what I actually want.
“Maura, people are looking.” Martin continues to smile, but the corner of his mouth twitches, his eyes darting toward the tables behind me. He flips open a small velvet box, revealing a platinum ring with small round diamonds surrounding a massive yellow diamond.
I fucking hate yellow.
He knows it. I know it. Even my mother’s dog, Ponyo, knows it.
“Maura,” Martin hisses through a smile, his eyes holding a warning. He’s never been known for his patience. “This is getting embarrassing. Say yes, smile, and wear the damn ring.”
Such a romantic fellow, this guy. Which reminds me that I’m supposed to break up with him today, so this proposal is the last thing I expect. With a sigh, I loosen my hand from under his. “Martin, listen. I can’t—”
His eyes widen at the realization that I’m going to humiliate him in front of dozens of other diners. In the blink of an eye, the earlier mirth and warmth are replaced by hostility, and he squeezes my hand … hard. “Maura, there’s a violinist who’s waiting for my signal so she can start playing your favorite song in front of us.”
The squeeze gets increasingly uncomfortable, already bordering on painful. “What’s my favorite song, then?”
It’s a question he doesn’t expect because he furrows his forehead like I just spoke in another language. “What?”
“You said she’s about to play my favorite song. What is it?”
“Mozart.”
I can’t help the laughter that bursts out of me. “I am not that pretentious, Martin.” Just as quickly, I wipe any trace of amusement on my face. “Now let go of my hand.”