Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
We get out of the car and make our way into the reception area; our mouths drop open as we look around in wonder. It has black-and-white marble tiles and huge chandeliers and lamps everywhere. The furnishings are all velvet and fancy upmarket antiques.
“Wow,” I whisper. “Will you look at this place.”
“Incredible,” Blake agrees.
“It has a real French feel,” I whisper. “I mean, not that I’ve been to France, but from what I’ve seen in books and magazines.”
“It is very French.” Antony nods as he looks around.
“You’ve never been to France?” Blake frowns.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been to Europe at all.”
“Oh, you have to go,” he says as he steps up to the reception desk. “It’s a must for everyone.”
“One day.” I give a halfhearted smile. Not that I’ll ever be able to afford it.
“Hello, we are here for the James and Drinkwater wedding,” Antony says to the girl at reception.
“Yes.” She types into her computer. “You are the bridal party.”
“Yes.”
Chloe and I smile in excitement. It’s happening.
“We have you booked in the executive suites on the third and fourth floors.”
Blake pulls out his credit card. “I’ll take care of all the rooms, please.”
“No, no.” I cut him off. I’ve been saving for this.
“The rooms have already been taken care of by the groom,” the receptionist tells us.
“Oh.”
“Idiot,” Blake grumbles. “I told him not to pay,” he thinks out loud. “Okay, thank you.”
The receptionist hands over the keys to the rooms. “I have Blake Grayson and Rebecca Dalton on level three. Take the elevator over on the right to level three, and your rooms are down the end of the corridor.”
“Thank you.”
“Then Antony Deluca and Chloe Willcox are on level four. Your elevator is on the left, and your rooms are halfway down the corridor.”
“Thank you.”
We make our way through the foyer. “What time is the wedding rehearsal?”
“Three o’clock.”
I glance at my watch. “Meet back down here in an hour?”
“Okay.”
Blake and I walk to the elevator and push the button. We wait in awkward silence.
The doors open, and we walk in and turn to face them. They close, and we begin to ride up to our floor.
“You know—”
“Don’t talk to me,” he cuts me off.
My mouth falls open. Of all the nerve. “Don’t talk to you?”
“That’s right.” He keeps his eyes facing forward to the doors.
“Don’t you dare gaslight me, Blake Grayson.”
“Ha.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s a joke. You’re gaslighting me. Telling me I’m gaslighting you is typical gaslighting behavior. Can you even hear yourself?”
“How am I gaslighting you?” I snap, outraged.
“You tell me that you hate this man; you tell me that you don’t want him anywhere near you. You tell me that he isn’t allowed on your property. Then he shows up, and I set a clear boundary for him to leave you alone. He refuses, so I step in, and suddenly I’m the bad guy.”
I glare at him.
“I’m not a pushover like some people.” He raises his chin defiantly.
The doors open, and he strides out.
“You think I’m a pushover?” I fume as I follow him down the corridor.
“Don’t think it, I know it.”
“We are trying to come to an agreement on the divorce settlement.”
“Oh please,” he scoffs. “There is no agreement. He is going to railroad you into getting exactly what he wants.”
“How do you know that?” I put my hands on my hips.
“Because unlike you . . . I can see through him. I can see through all these fucking idiots that you think are good guys.”
I begin to hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. “You know what? Coming from a walking red flag like you, that’s a joke.”
“How am I a walking red flag?” he whispers angrily.
“Oh please.” I throw up my hands in disgust. “You cannot be this obtuse.”
“Obtuse.” His eyes bulge in their sockets.
“That’s right,” I spit. “You know as well as I do that you party way too hard every weekend. You sleep with every hot woman you meet. Even our neighbor, who you have constantly told me is not your type . . . which is repulsive, by the way. You keep talking about all these kids you want to have, and yet at the age of thirty-five, you can’t even hold down a girlfriend. When are you planning on settling down and having these children, when you’re eighty? And to top it all off, you get holes punctured through your dick in Vegas and probably have syphilis now.” I grab the key to my room. “If that isn’t out of control, I don’t know what is. So excuse me if I refuse to take relationship advice from a fucking train wreck.”
“How do you know about my dick? I’ll tell you what’s a fucking train wreck,” he spits. “A woman who has a friend who would literally do anything for her, and she treats him like shit.” He grabs his key and holds it to his door.