Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Anyway, I just thought . . . Saturday night we could come out to your friends and pretend to”—he pauses—“be together . . . for the story’s sake, one last time. Before we spectacularly break up.”
“What would Vanessa say about that?”
A frown flashes across his face. “Who’s Vanessa?”
“I was outside the other night, and I saw her arrive.”
“Oh.” He thinks for a moment. “Not that it’s any of your business, Vanessa and I have an agreement where neither is bothered by what the other one does.”
“She’s a booty call?”
“She’s a very nice lady”—he smirks—“who does offer her booty.”
“Oh.” I fall silent. What do you even say to that?
“I’m a very sexual person, Juliet. I have needs.” He sips his coffee. “I do what any highly sexed single person does to get by.”
I remember.
After a while he says, “Vanessa won’t be visiting me again.”
“Why?”
“I’m no longer interested in her.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and he gives me the best come-fuck-me look of all time.
I nervously sip my coffee.
“And there lies the problem,” he continues.
I frown as I try to keep up with the conversation.
What problem?
“I like to keep my dating life and my home life separate, and especially with you being you.”
“Me being me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come off it.” He rolls his eyes. “The night we spent together wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering moment.”
It was for me. My heart sinks.
“You were engaged to another man, for fuck’s sake.”
It wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering moment.
Our night meant nothing to him. He hasn’t thought about it again since.
“You’re right.” I look up, determined to get over this dick. “I was.”
His cold eyes hold mine.
Awkward . . .
“What?” I sip my coffee, feeling like an errant child.
“So . . . let me get this straight. You were engaged to be married while fucking other men.”
“We had an open relationship,” I lie.
He tilts his chin to the sky, angered. “I don’t know much about marriage, but I can be pretty fucking sure I wouldn’t be sharing my future wife.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling uneasy with his contempt. “What do you want, Henley?” I snap. “Did you barge in here to make me feel like shit? Because mission accomplished, you’ve done just that.”
He stands. “I will pick you up on Saturday for the wedding.”
I stare at him, and I know that I should stay far away from this selfish bastard forever.
Move house even.
But the thought of being on his arm just one more time sends me into overdrive.
“Three o’clock,” I murmur.
His eyes hold mine. “Three o’clock.”
It’s 5:40 a.m., and I am on the front porch, stretching for my run. Right on cue, Henley’s front door opens, and he walks out in his suit.
My heart somersaults in my chest at the mere sight of him.
Where does he go so early every day?
His office doesn’t open until nine. I mean, I know he would have to go in early sometimes, but every single day, even on weekends?
He glances up and gives me a sexy smile. We stare at each other for a beat longer than necessary, and then he gets into his car and drives out.
He gives me a casual wave as he drives past, and like the fangirl I am, I wave right back.
I watch his car disappear around the corner and make a mental note of what I have to do today.
Buy a new dress, the hottest one known to man. Book a hair appointment for Saturday and get everything waxed.
I mean everything.
A knock sounds at my door. It’s Saturday, after the longest week in history.
He’s here.
I’m regretting this before I even go. Stupid, stupid. What am I thinking? Just get it over with.
I open the door in a rush. “Hi.”
His eyes drop down to my toes and back up to rest on my face. “Hello.” He gives me a slow sexy smile. “You look”—he inhales sharply—“good.”
I try to hide my smile; he likes the dress. “Hello, Henley.” I grab my purse and shawl.
We get into his car, and he pulls out onto the road. “How was your week?” he asks.
Long.
“Good, thanks. How was yours?”
“Busy.”
I twist my fingers in my lap and stare out the window as we drive, and I go over the game plan for today.
Stay distant.
Whatever I do, remember that this is just a game to him.
I can’t be too chatty or friendly. I just have to let the day pan out.
We drive in silence for the rest of the way and finally pull into the parking lot.
The wedding is at a big country house estate. The gardens are beautiful, and I can see the white chairs lined up in rows near a floral arbor. That must be where the vows will be exchanged.
I internally count the ways that this could end badly. “This looks nice,” he says as he parks the car.