Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Perfect.” I slammed the phone down and relaxed back into my chair.
She was making this so damn easy.
CHAPTER 10
STELLA
The nightmare always began as a dream.
I was in a gorgeous dark red gown, as far from white as I could get without wearing black.
It was for a wedding, after all.
I was genuinely happy, laughing and gossiping with my mother as we walked down the stone stairs of the performance art center.
We talked about the unusual wedding and the handsome man who stood by the groom in a big, black cowboy hat.
My father was all smiles, making jokes about the New York weather being bad for horses, and asking what happened when the brim of a ten-gallon hat was filled with snow?
Did the sides collapse, or did the cowboy notice how heavy it was and tip his head back and dump the snow on the poor frozen horse?
We laughed harder than the joke deserved, my joy aided by the several glasses of champagne and the few shots of whisky I had taken with the groom’s brother.
It was silly, but we were all happy, almost giddy with the energy from the wedding, the drinks, and the snow swirling in the air, making it seem magical.
We’d watched Charlotte Manwarring marry the love of her life, a man who had saved her over and over, and then stolen her from the titled coward her father almost forced her to marry.
Before the wedding, my father even made a few off-handed comments about anyone being better than the Zieglers. He refused to expand further.
The entire wedding, I was enthralled, gushing to my mother about how Charlotte, a dear friend of mine, had gotten her happily ever after.
She’d married her strong, noble guard, who turned out to be a prince in disguise. I’m sure it was dramatic and full of issues, especially with her recent injuries. I didn’t envy the dangerous path she had to take to get to where she was. But I envied her ending.
It was seeing her so happy that made my own heart ache.
I wondered if I would be so lucky as to feel that desire and love one day. I hoped that I could look at my husband the way Charlotte looked at hers.
“When will I find my husband?” I had asked my mother.
“As if there was any man in the world good enough for my baby girl,” my father said, wrapping his arms around my bare shoulders.
“I don’t know if I want a man who’s good enough for me,” I said, slurring my words just a little. “I want a man who’s strong enough for me. I don’t want a noble night like Charlotte has.”
“Oh?” My mother laughed. “Do you want a prince?”
“You mean like Amelia and Olivia have?” I thought about it for a second, like it was a serious question.
They both had amazing husbands who were kind, doating, and loved their wives more than anything.
They even supported their dreams and ambitions.
Olivia with her magazine and Amelia with her school.
Each man was also set to inherit a fortune and would continue to grow their families’ empire.
That didn’t sound appealing either. “No, I want a king. I want a man who rules over a vast kingdom with an iron fist. The kind of man who takes what he wants and doesn’t suffer fools.”
“Sounds like you want a hard man,” my father said, rolling his eyes when my mother and I both dissolved into another fit of giggles.
“It sounds like you want a cruel man,” my father clarified. “There’s nothing wrong with the cruel man as long as you are what he wants. The second he turns his gaze from you or decides that you are in the way of whatever his final goal is, you will regret that choice.”
“No, that’s not a king. That’s a president.” I wasn’t even sure what I was saying anymore. But the math was mathing in my champagne-soaked mind. “I don’t want a man who was just handed money on a silver spoon. I want a man who owns his empire because he took it by right and might. I want a man whose temper and fire for life runs hot. I want heat and passion and…”
“And,” my mother interrupted, swaying on her Jimmy Choo heels, “a man who looks like Henry Cavill.”
“That would suffice as well.” I nodded sagely.
“I don’t know who that is,” my father groused, before he slipped on the stairs, barely catching himself and doing a little dance to make it look like it was intentional, a trick to amuse us.
My mother and I erupted into more giggles as we made our way down the stairs.
Our earlier conversation was forgotten in an instant as my father made grand proclamations about the need to dance, to enjoy life to the fullest, and he sung something else that was so slurred my mother and I just laughed.