Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Cupcakes? From me?
It’s so absurd I fight the urge to laugh in her face.
“Yes, cupcakes. It was my turn to bake her a treat, I suppose. Long story short, she said yes,” I tell them.
“What did he say?” Clara doesn’t even look at me, keeping her gaze fixed on Junie.
Haute sends me a long look that says he’s as disinterested in the conversation as I am. I never thought it’d be his wife raking us over the coals.
“It’s what he didn’t say, that’s the best part. He hid my ring in the middle of a cupcake,” Junie says, holding out her hand and smiling as the diamonds catch the light. “It was like something out of a movie. Once I got over the shock of biting down on the little plastic ball holding the ring, he got down on one knee and told me I was sweeter than any baking and he just had to spend the rest of his life with me.”
Clara looks like she’s about to faint from swooning.
“You’re just full of surprises, Rory. Never pictured you as a Casanova, though for her, I see why,” Haute says, never taking his eyes off Junie. “A beautiful gesture, to be sure,” he adds, almost like an afterthought.
Fucking creep.
It’s like he’s trying to piss me off on purpose.
Also, something about his tone suggests he doesn’t think it’s beautiful at all.
I grit my teeth, knowing I need to calm the mood here before I tell him to keep his fat eyes in his own head.
“It reminds me a little of your proposal,” Clara says to Haute, fingering her ring like she needs the reassurance. The rock looks so heavy it must be a chore to wear. “Do you remember it, kitten?”
Kitten? Him?
A brief scowl flashes across his face, but after a second he smiles again, oozing that urbane charm he wields like a shield. “I wasn’t nearly as eloquent as Dexter here.”
“You, off your game? I’m surprised to hear it,” I say neutrally. “You seem like a natural planner, and so am I. With romance, I was a little more spontaneous.”
“It took me by surprise.” Junie’s hand tightens on my arm. “I wasn’t expecting it at all.”
“You were expecting me to propose,” I say, because it’s true. I made my intentions very clear right from the start. “At least we’d talked about it a bit.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean I was expecting you to pull a ring out of a freaking cupcake.”
I think back to her jaw dropping shock when I’d offered her the ring like a total goon.
No strings attached, no need to give it back.
At the time, I thought her shock was down to its extravagance. Not because I’d offered her one at all.
I don’t know what else she expected when we were launching a self-serving fake engagement.
Although maybe turning up at her apartment with it wasn’t the best approach. Maybe I should’ve eased her into it and taken her out for dinner or something first.
What was it she said at my house that night?
Something about toasting the only engagement she’ll ever get?
This weird regret washes over me.
When this really is over, I hope it doesn’t hurt like a bitch.
Saddling this sunny young woman with any amount of heartache is too fucking much.
“I hope it wasn’t too underwhelming,” I say absently.
“Stop.” She squeezes my arm. “You know it wasn’t. Not at all. How could any woman be disappointed with this beauty?”
She wiggles the hand with the ring on it for emphasis.
There’s no stopping the rough smile on my face.
Yes, I chose it because I thought it was the best compromise between her style and the extravagance my family would expect. I never thought she’d love it so much.
Shit, I never thought I’d love seeing it on her finger.
And that makes me boil every time Haute stares at her a second too long.
“I just can’t get over how sweet it was of Dexter to use desserts to win you over. We’d all kill for a man who shares our passions—or at least knows what they are.” Clara smiles fondly at Junie as the conversation drifts back toward the Sugar Bowl. “You know, I used to do some baking myself, back when I could scare up the time and energy…”
“What do you like to bake?” Junie’s face brightens and I don’t think it’s feigned enthusiasm.
“A lot of traybakes. My family lives in England and they sent me recipes for millionaire’s shortbread and rocky road. Have you ever made it?”
“I can’t say I have,” Junie admits.
“Oh, it’s delicious, and such a hit with the children! If you’re ever looking to expand your kids’ menu, you could do a lot worse.”
It’s almost weird watching them getting along like this.
Like adults. Like humans. Like it’s normal and there aren’t eight figures riding on this very tentative contract with a man who’s still fucking staring.