Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Because being that close to his father’s side of the family would be horrible. Because the UK press would be unbearable. The media are bad enough here. I’ve seen more than enough to reach that conclusion. Now there’s a new item for my wish list: to be his knight in shining armor. To rescue him from the fuckery of his birth. But neither a long sword nor a faithful steed will help the situation. When it comes to privacy and his right to live his life, what his mother said was right. Alistair never had a choice, and he never stood a chance. The best I can do is stand with him. To not leave him to face it alone. As long as I don’t die tomorrow and he wants to keep dating me. Fingers crossed on both counts.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“How much I appreciate you doing this.”
The edge of his mouth eases up. “It’s not a hardship. I’ll dance in the rain with you whenever you like. Just say the word.”
We don’t talk anymore. Our clothes are damp and my hair hangs in tendrils. I had hoped to impress my parents with my put-togetherness and not look like trash if or when the paparazzi catch up with us. But oh well. I’m sure I resemble a drowned rat while he has more in common with a dashing, debonair hero facing down the eye of the storm. I can just picture him on the cover of a romance novel wearing a kilt and a rakish grin. His shirt clings to the cut of his shoulders. His cheekbones slick with rain stand out in stark relief. He is, however, so much more than his looks. So much more than his money and fame. The online gossip sites don’t know a thing about the real him.
Alistair smiles at me and I smile back. A cool breeze blows through the garden, but there’s enough warmth in his eyes for both of us. Oh, God, this man makes me giddy. Spin in circles and giggle like an idiot...the whole thing. My delicate little feelings are in such danger and I cannot make myself care. Not when he looks at me the way he does. Forget the contents of my wish list. Being with him is everything. And if I press my ear against his chest, I can hear his heart beat strong and steady, which is officially one of my new favorite things.
Which is when my mother opens the back door, throws a towel at us, and says, “That’s enough. Get in here, you two lovebirds, and explain yourselves.”
“Harsh,” I mutter, patting myself dry.
“Why do I suddenly feel as if I’m six years old getting caught stealing sweets from the pantry?” he asks in a low voice.
“Did you do that often?”
“Now and then.” He gives me a wink. “I was a growing lad.”
Inside, the kitchen table is set with the everyday silverware and plain beige dishes that have been around forever. Further evidence of my mother’s foul mood. There’s no sign of Grandma’s good vintage Furnival dishes with the pretty blue design. Nope. Not for this lunch. Though the familiar scent of Mom’s cooking makes my tummy rumble. And regardless of the arctic welcome, it’s nice to visit. To show Alistair this place and introduce him to my parents.
“Handsome, isn’t he?” Mom is not impressed. She also doesn’t allow a word to escape her intended prey. He has no sooner pasted on his most winning smile than she asks, “Why do you think you’re good enough for my daughter?”
“Ah,” he says with much wisdom. “I don’t think that I’m good enough, ma’am. I don’t know that anyone could be.”
“Then why should I give you my blessing?” asks Mom. “Hmm?”
“We need your blessing?” I cock my head. “What is this, the Victorian era? Should I go and put on a bustle and fetch my needlework? A gentleman has come to call!”
Dad smothers a smile.
“Alistair, I give you my word I’m a virgin.” I put my hand on my heart. “We’re an honest family. We wouldn’t sell you dodgy goods.”
“Thank goodness,” he says dourly. “I did have my concerns.”
Thunder crosses Mother’s face. “Very funny.”
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you’re upset. But listen, about the engagement—”
“The engagement is exactly what I wish to discuss. But not with you. Not if you’re not going to take it seriously!”
“Wait a minute,” I say.
But Mom just sniffs in disdain and takes another swing. “Alistair, my daughter is a bright and beautiful young woman. Most of the time. She only just escaped the clutches of an imbecile who couldn’t keep it in his pants. How are you any better?”
“Oh, he’s definitely better,” I say. “Take my word for it. Sooo much better.”
A faint red hue appears high on Alistair’s cheeks. The man is blushing. Hilarious.