Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Please, call me Mom!”
I didn’t even call her Mom.
Also, why did she use an exclamation point for every sentence that left her mouth?
“Oh, if you insist. Do you know any good shopping spots around here, Mom?”
“Know?” Monica almost suffered a cardiac arrest. “I have a personal shopper in each of them.”
Her eyes caught the pearl necklace Dallas must have stolen from my room. I knew she’d snooped—left her greasy fingerprints everywhere—but just now noticed it on her collar.
Monica covered her lips with her fingertips, sparing Senior a glance. “Oh, honey, Rom gave Dallas your great grandmother’s necklace. They really are getting married.”
Behind her, Senior, Bruce, and Shelley peered at Dallas. I studied my father. The hard set of his shoulders. The way they rattled with each exhale.
He planted a hand on the railing. For support, I gathered, though he’d never admit it. He hated weaknesses.
The bad news was—Senior was still alive.
The good news?
He seemed a little less so than the last time I’d seen him.
Bruce and Shelley advanced after Dallas managed to unplaster herself from Monica’s hold.
“Dear.” Shelley squeezed Shortbread’s shoulder, a grim expression eclipsing her face. “We heard what happened at the debutante ball. Are you okay?”
“Miss Townsend.” Bruce slipped between them, grabbing Dallas’s hands in an Oscar-worthy performance. “If you need to discuss anything privately for a moment, I’m at your disposal.”
The prick wanted Shortbread to fall at his feet and beg him to save her from the big, bad wolf.
I’d predicted this behavior from Bruce, as well as Dallas’s response—she knew she had no way out of this.
No home to return to.
Chapel Falls would only accept her as my wife after our rose garden debacle.
Though I’d expected Dallas to shut Bruce down, I hadn’t foreseen her upturning her nose, regarding him as if he were a lowly servant.
“Bruce, is it?” Her eyes narrowed, foot sliding back.
“Yes.” He inclined his head in faux modesty. “No need to put on a brave face, my dear. I’ve seen the social media videos—”
“You know what they say about social media.” Shortbread examined her manicured fingernails with a patronizing pout. “It’s nothing but a false reality.”
Shelley stepped forward, trying to milk some kind of confession out of my fiancée. “But you looked so livid—”
“Oh, I was.” Dallas laughed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. I noticed she had a wing-shaped constellation of freckles on her nose. “But then I had time to cool down and consider how completely obsessed with me this man is. Look at the lengths he went to in order for us to wed. I swear, every time he stares at me, there are tears in his eyes. He can’t contain himself. I hold his happiness in my fist. How romantic is that?”
I could kiss her in that moment.
Of course, she’d probably bite my lips off as payback.
Disappointed, Bruce and Shelley scampered to the sidelines as Senior finally strode toward Shortbread.
My blood cooled in my veins.
My muscles tensed.
I parked a possessive hand on her waist.
Dallas took in my father’s general welfare. Or lack thereof. A million questions danced behind her honey-hued eyes.
I hoped Senior saw each and every one.
He hated the idea of people knowing what had happened to him. That his imperial body had failed him, and he’d soon wither into himself.
Which was why he’d chosen to retire before the general public could witness what his disease did to him.
Senior captured Dallas’s hand and brought it to his lips, making eye contact with her. “Romeo, she is ravishing.”
“I have eyes,” I informed him.
“You have hands, too, and they seem to be all over her. Relax.” He chuckled. “She isn’t going to run anywhere, is she?”
Dallas studied the human ring surrounding her, trying to read the atmosphere. It was obvious bad blood ran between the men present.
Hedging her bets on a safe stock, she laced her arm in Monica’s and smiled. “I’d love to help you in the kitchen, Mom.”
“Oh, I haven’t entered my kitchen since 1998.” She waved a hand. “It’s all servants.”
Dallas flashed her dazzling smile, but I could tell she didn’t like Monica’s usage of the words servants.
Did my young bride have morals? Unlikely.
Best not to find out.
“Shall we sit down for dinner?” Senior suggested.
“Certainly, Romeo.” Bruce all but rolled over and showed him his tummy for a rub.
When the four of them poured into the dining room, Shortbread held back and leaned toward me, her voice low. “Is your father okay? Is something wrong with him?”
There was a lot wrong with Senior.
Friedreich’s ataxia happened to be the only thing right about him.
It would kill him, eventually. Too slow for my liking. But in the meantime, I enjoyed the progression of his symptoms.
Each time he struggled to walk in sudden bouts. The fatigue. The slowed speech. The only time I ever listened to him speak, really.