Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
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.
“He has a rare inherited disease that causes progressive nervous system damage.” I strode to the dining room, refusing to match her volume. I didn’t care if Senior heard me. In fact, I would enjoy it.
Her forehead creased. “Inherited? Will you—”
“Get it? No. It requires two recessive genes.” I leaned into her, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Careful, Shortbread. Wouldn’t want to mistake you for caring.”
Dinner consisted of Bruce and Shelley cross-examining Shortbread about the debutante ball, Monica trying to lure Dallas to European shopping sprees, and Senior prying her for obvious flaws. Of which there were many. My bride slumped in her seat like an overcooked shrimp, most certainly to grate on my already raw nerves. I could tell Shortbread didn’t enjoy defending our relationship, for the simple fact that it did not exist. She was forced to lie through her teeth for a man who had plucked her from her charming life. By the time dessert was served, shockingly, she didn’t even touch it.