Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
My mother finds me within minutes, pulling me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe.
"Oh, sweetheart. Oh, Bailey. I'm so happy for you. He's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Did you see the way he looked at you during the vows? Like you were the only person in the room. That's real, baby. That's the real thing."
I hug her back, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume.
"Thanks, Mom."
"And this place!" She gestures at the ballroom with wide eyes. "When his people called me, I thought it was a joke. My Bailey, marrying into this? But then they sent the plane tickets, first class, Bailey, first class, and I thought, well, if this is a joke, it's an expensive one."
"He sent you first class tickets?"
"And a car from the airport. With a driver who called me ma'am." She beams. "He also invited Pastor Jim, but he couldn’t make it.”
Pastor Jim’s in this world, too? He was so instrumental in helping my mom and me cope with the complex mixture of relief and grief that Mom and I battled with when my father died. I’m glad he’s here, but I just don’t know how to process it. Or maybe this...and the way Hewhay’s works is simply impossible to process, and I should just go with the flow and keep doing what’s right.
Devyn appears at my elbow, and my mother's face lights up even brighter.
"There he is! The man of the hour." She actually reaches out and pats his arm, and I watch Devyn's expression flicker with something that might be alarm. "Thank you for flying me out here. It means the world."
"Of course," Devyn says, and his voice is stiff. Uncomfortable. "Bailey's family is my family now."
"Oh, listen to him." My mother turns to me, pressing a hand to her heart. "Isn't he just perfect?"
I look at Devyn. He looks at me. Something passes between us—some shared acknowledgment of the absurdity.
"He's something," I say.
My mother beams like I've confirmed all her romantic suspicions.
Someone whisks her away to meet the Baron of something-or-other, and I'm left standing beside Devyn.
“Your mother...”
I nearly laugh. It’s so like my mother to leave even someone like Devyn at a loss for words.
"She hugged me."
"I saw."
"She told me I have kind eyes."
This time, I can't help it. I laugh. "She tells everyone that."
He looks at me sideways. "She seems happy."
"She is happy. She thinks this is a fairy tale."
"And you?" His voice drops. "What do you think it is?"
I don't have an answer.
Before I can try to find one, the man from the ceremony appears at my elbow.
The handsome one. Up close, he's even more striking. Dark hair artfully tousled, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes warm and sympathetic in a way that feels almost too perfect.
"Your Majesty." He takes my hand before I can react, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "What a pleasure to finally meet you. You must be completely overwhelmed."
"I'm sorry, have we—"
"Amos Karp." His smile widens. "I'm a friend of your husband's. Well, an associate, anyway."
Something about the way he says friend makes me think they're anything but.
"It's nice to meet you," I say.
"The pleasure is mine, truly." He hasn't let go of my hand. "I can only imagine how strange this all must be. Thrust into our world with no warning, surrounded by strangers." His expression turns sympathetic. "If you ever need a friend at court, someone to help you understand how things work here, I hope you'll consider me."
It's a kind offer. The words are kind, the tone is kind, his face is kind.
So why do I feel like I'm being circled by a shark?
"That's very generous," I start, but I don't get to finish.
A hand lands on my waist. Warm. Possessive. Familiar.
"My wife doesn't need friends." Devyn's voice is calm, pleasant even, but there's an edge beneath it. "She has me."
Amos releases my hand and steps back smoothly. "Of course. I meant no offense. Congratulations on your marriage. She's lovely."
"I know."
The two men look at each other. Something passes between them, something I can't read.
Then Amos melts back into the crowd.
I wait until he's out of earshot.
"Friend or foe?"
"Neither." Devyn's hand is still on my waist. "But my instincts are never off. So make sure to keep your distance from him.”
NIGHT FALLS.
The reception winds down. My mother hugs me one last time, promises to call tomorrow, and is escorted to a guest suite.
And I follow Devyn to his chambers.
Our chambers now, I suppose.
The room is large, elegantly furnished, dominated by a massive four-poster bed that I'm trying very hard not to look at. Devyn closes the door behind us, and the silence feels deafening.
I don't know what to do with my hands. I don't know where to look.
He removes his jacket. Drapes it over a chair with methodical precision. Then his cufflinks, set carefully on the dresser.