Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Nonsense. You’ll sleep in the air and be completely refreshed. James will adore you, and you’ll adore James. He’s the perfect man for a woman of your...unique charms. He might even be your one true love. You two will make pretty babies.”
I was already shaking my head. “No more setups. I mean it. We’ve talked about this.” Often.
The newest crack of thunder drowned out her response. Then the sky opened and deluged the streets with icy rain. An awning saved me from a thorough soaking, but not from the cold. Screw it. If I didn’t put on my coat, I’d provide every passerby with a solo wet T-shirt contest.
Anchoring my phone between my cheek and my shoulder, I knelt beside my bag and unzipped—eek! The wind snatched my favorite cardigan. I reached out to catch it, missed, and dropped my phone on the pavement, cracking the screen.
My eyes slid closed.
“—say to that, darling?” my mother was asking as I snapped to and pressed the broken device to my ear. “The connection might be fading. Are you going through a tunnel? I’m looking forward to your party, and I know you are, too. Wear something flattering for your figure. Bye!” Click.
Argh! I’d rather be reading romantic cozy mysteries than dropping queso on my shirt while a good-time-guy explained all the reasons I should invite him back to my place and not expect a call afterward.
But enough about the travesty of modern dating and my mother’s obvious manipulation. Books were a much safer subject. Now would be a good time to lose myself in a story, but I’d finished my newest read last night. A delightful tale about a sunny, cursed-in-love heroine who owned a landlocked cemetery and solved a murder while fighting her attraction to a grumpy, cinnamon roll of a special agent.
As carefully as possible, I searched the carryon for my coat, to no avail. Had I left the garment at the bed-and-breakfast? My shoulders rolled in. There went my exploration of the city. Better to hole up and get warm.
After securing my bag, I headed inside the fancy hotel and aimed for the bar for hydration and a snack . A small round table called my name. I sat, scanned the menu, then ordered a cranberry juice and a smoked haddock with toast points drizzled in sweet onion cream sauce. The benefit of traveling alone: No one cared about my breath.
While enjoying the treats, I marveled at my opulent surroundings. A massive crystal chandelier cast spears of light over glass tables topped by fresh lavender centerpieces. Plush, colorful chairs acted as the perfect compliment. Inlays of cobalt and gold glistened throughout an ivory floor. Across the room, a bay of windows displayed a covered deck teeming with potted flowers.
“Is this seat taken?” a woman asked.
Startled, I glanced up to find an elegant, green-eyed, freckled redhead standing next to the empty chair across from me. A lovely white dress molded to her long, slender frame. Two burly men in tailored suits flanked her sides. One had a buzz cut; the other sported a ponytail.
Were they bodyguards? Both glared at me as if I’d forced the woman to approach at gunpoint.
“Well?” Red asked, glancing at the remains of my appetizer and wrinkling her nose.
Right. She expected a response. “No,” I piped up. “The chair isn’t taken. Please feel free to—”
“Excellent.” She plopped a designer purse between us and eased down, a glass of what looked to be whiskey in hand. Two lime wedges balanced on the rim.
Oh. I’d thought— Well, it didn’t really matter now, did it?
“I’m Isobel Campbell.” She arched a thick red brow at me. “An’ you are?”
“Oh. Um, I’m Elizabeth Darcy. Or Lizzie. Or Liza. Or even Ellie. I answer to all.”
“I will never answer to Ellie,” she said with a shudder, confusing me.
She waved the men away, and they obeyed, claiming the table behind ours. “Do you know your name is used in a Jane Austen novel? Well, post-marriage?”
“I do. My mother loves Pride and Prejudice. She’s fond of saying she only agreed to go on a date with my father because his name was William Darcy.” Thankfully, the spicy ballet instructor and mild-mannered accountant had hit it off.
“Was?”
Sharp pangs cut through me, and my fingers flew to the penny hanging from a chain around my neck. The coin my dad carried in his pocket until the day he’d died. A reminder, he’d said, that money could only take you so far. You required wisdom to go the rest of the way.
How I missed his quiet insight. “He passed years ago.”
“Interesting. You sound sad about it. I cheered when mine died.” Isobel sipped her drink. “Are you comin’ or goin’ from our great land, Elizabeth?”
Breezing past her first comment because I had no idea how to respond, I checked the time on my phone and said, “Going. In thirty-seven minutes, I’ll be on my way to the airport.” A groan bubbled up. “I’m supposed to attend a welcome party when I get home.”