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)
That should be easy.
Or...it should have been for most people.
But for a klutz like me?
I don’t know why, but I suddenly have it in my mind to head back to the armchair before making my choice. But as soon as I take a step forward, my foot catches on the blanket that I didn’t realize I still have half-draped over my shoulders—
Oh no.
I lurch forward, hand flailing, and my fingers land squarely on—
Option B.
New text blooms across the page.
As always, Bailey sabotages herself.
I make an indignant sound. “That’s not fair! I tripped!”
Surprise it is.
“Wait—can I get a redo? That wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
Your groom is waiting, ma reine.
When I open my eyes, I just want to cry.
No no no no no no no no.
Because the last time I read a page from my book about weddings, the groom Heywhay’s chosen for me was not Devyn.
I don’t care if this is the reward Heywhay’s chosen for me.
There’s only one man I intend to marry, and so...
I pick my skirts up and make a run for it.
Faster, Bailey!
Because if the Paul in this world is like Paul in the books, he for sure has the power to stop me if he realizes I’m trying to escape.
Faster!
My heart thuds against my chest as I run down a hallway that’s painfully familiar. Is this world completely new? Because this looks exactly like the hallway I first found myself in, only that time it was Abigail who was the bride. This time it’s me, but the groom is all wrong. Is it possible that Heywhay’s likes to use the same setting over and over, and it’s only the master of the house that changes in each world? Does that mean—
Focus, Bailey!
Now is the worst possible time to figure out how Heywhay’s works and what I can do to get back to a world where mafia kings rule and all that’s white has become—aah!
Tears burn my eyes when I crash into something hard. Has Paul caught up to me? Will he listen to me if I tell him that I’m the wrong girl in the wrong book—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Or maybe I’m the one who has it all wrong because that voice—
My eyes flies up.
Devyn.
“H-How—” I don’t understand what’s happening. “Y-You—”
“—need to explain yourself.” Devyn cups my chin. “Where,” he says again, “do you think you’re going?”
“You don’t understand—”
“Our wedding—” He nods at the hallway behind me. “—is that way.”
“I have to—”
Wait.
Did he say our wedding?
Devyn’s gaze narrows. “Did you just come from Heywhay’s?”
I start to nod...when memories start trickling in. Of things that happened in the days past...but I seemed to have temporarily forgotten while I was in Heywhay’s. Me, fainting. Amos, crumpling to the floor. Me again, waking up at the hospital, and asking Devyn about—
“Abigail?” I croak out.
“She doesn’t remember anything that’s happened. She was never engaged to me.”
Oh yes. I mean no. I mean—I don’t know how I’m supposed to process that.
“Should I feel guilty about that?” Because honestly, I feel the opposite—
“Don’t be. I was never Abigail’s greatest wish.”
Oh.
Oh!
I remember all the things I read about her online, the things I read in her diary, and the things she told me herself, and—
“She’s now the much cherished daughter of the Baron of Greenwhich.”
Oh, thank goodness!
But as wonderful as that is—
“Amos?”
I have to force myself to say his name.
“Never existed in this world either, but...he’s behind bars in yours.”
Oh, Heywhay.
I still have no idea how that place works, but somehow...everything’s turned out perfectly.
“How much do you remember now?” Devyn asks softly.
“I think it will take some time...before I remember everything. Some memories are still fuzzy—”
“I asked you something, when you first woke up at the hospital.”
Oh!
“If it’s about marrying you, then of course—”
“I asked if you can find it your heart to forgive me...and give me the chance to love you and make it up to you.”
Oh, this man is absolutely the sweetest!
“I know I messed up,” he says grimly. “And I can’t even promise not to mess up again. But what I can promise is that I will love you for the rest—”
I throw myself into his arms.
Just launch myself at him like something out of a drama, arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder, probably wrinkling my wedding dress beyond all repair and not caring even a little bit.
“I love you!”
His arms come around me. Tight. Fierce. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
“I love you,” I say again, because I can, because it’s true, because the words taste like honey and freedom and everything I thought I’d lost. “I love you and I forgive you, and no matter which world we end up in, I’ll always love you—”
I think I’m rambling, and I don’t know if I can stop.
“Always choose you, always marry—”
And it seems he’s realized this as well, with his hands cupping my face, his mouth cutting the rest of my words as his lips cover mine—