Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
And it will always be chess.
For better, for worse.
‘Til death do us part.
.
Campbell—
My parents are making me send you this Valentine’s Card. It was not my idea. It came with a Spiderman tattoo, but I kept it.
Slade (age 9)
Slade—
I already got cards from other boys. Plus six tattoos, five erasers, three pencils, a Dora sticker, and a pink flower ring.
Campbell (age 8)
Campbell—
Maybe you should marry one of them instead of me?
Slade (age 9)
Dear Slade—
Maybe I will.
Campbell (age 8)
4
Campbell
“I have something for you,” Slade reaches into the pocket of his dress slacks, pulling out a small, dark object.
After dinner, my parents suggested we “cozy around the fireplace” on the back deck with some dessert wine, except as soon as we all got situated, they suddenly decided to call it a night and left the two of us alone to catch up.
I’m sure they think they’re doing us a favor, fostering romance or something, but my alone time with Slade is only ever filled with barbs and one-liners and each of us checking the time every two seconds.
“Why?” I ask.
He snickers. “Usually when someone gives you a gift, the first thing out of your mouth shouldn’t be the word why …”
I clear my throat and straighten my posture. “I just mean, we don’t do gifts. You’ve never given me anything. Why now?”
“Wasn’t aware I had to have a reason …” The crackling fire paints shadows on his handsome face as his dark eyes glint the way they do when he’s up to something.
My stomach turns upside down, against my will.
I’ve always loved and hated it when he looks at me. It’s as if he’s mocking me yet undressing me with his gaze simultaneously, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I’ve yet to wrap my head around the fact that we’re going to have to consummate our marriage at some point in the near future—we haven’t even held hands. Not because our families are ultra conservative or anything like that … we simply haven’t wanted to.
But in less than six months, his lips will be on mine in front of a sea of friends and family.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if we started being semi-nice to each other as we march toward our inevitable doom.
I mean, at the end of the day, we’re on the same team.
He drops a small leather object in my hand. Attached to it is a shiny gold fob.
“What’s this?” I examine my gift in the dark.
“My house key,” he says.
I run my fingertips along the leather key ring, realizing there’s some kind of inscription on one side. Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s a capital D flanked by a C and an E …my soon-to-be monogram.
Campbell Elizabeth Delacorte.
As much as I hate the idea of taking his last name, I have to admit Campbell Delacorte has a nicer ring to it than Campbell Wakemont. It’s softer, rolling off the tongue easier than it should.
“It was my mother’s idea,” he says before I can comment.
“Thank you.” I close my palm around the key ring.
The plan has always been for us to reside in Florida after the wedding—not only is it a notorious tax haven for the uber-rich like the Delacortes, it’s the headquarters of Delacorte Media Group, one of the most powerful media conglomerates in the world with thousands of employees. I wouldn’t dream of making a single one of those innocent people relocate for my sake, so I agreed to the move. Besides, Slade would be miserable in Sapphire Shores, and he’s already going to be miserable enough in this marriage. No need to double down.
“It’s not too late to call this whole thing off, you know.” I study his face as I reach for my wine.
“And walk away from my inheritance?” Slade counters without hesitation, reminding me that this has always been about money and nothing else. “I would never.”
I’ve read the contract a million times, backwards and forward, over the years, hoping I could find some kind of loophole or way out of this, but the thing is airtight. Not only that, but Slade has more to lose than I do. Should he choose not to marry me, he’d walk away from his entire inheritance, a fortune estimated to be worth just north of ninety-eight billion dollars (if Google is to be believed).
If this arrangement falls through, his father plans to dismantle Delacorte Media Group piece by piece—a fate worse than death for Slade as he’s made his family name and legacy his entire life’s purpose.
Nothing—and I mean nothing—matters more to Slade than this company, which is why Slade’s father placed a series of stipulations into the contract, stipulations that span beyond the simple marriage itself.
By our first anniversary, I’m expected to be with child—assuming there are no verifiable medical issues to prevent such a thing. Once a baby is born, Slade is slated to receive a ten percent interest in Delacorte Media Group.