Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Jesus Christ. I need to get my eyes back up to her face before she notices that I’m staring at her like a hound dog eyes a steak. But my brain isn’t cooperating. The dress hugs every curve perfectly, showing off what’s usually hidden under business attire at the office. And those matching heels that somehow emphasize her shapely legs…
“Too much?” she asks, glancing down at herself uncertainly. “The invitation said…”
“Don’t.” The word comes out rougher than I intended. I clear my throat and try again. “Don’t second-guess yourself. You look incredible. I’m the one who’s underdressed.”
She stops a few feet short of me on the path and gives my jacket and pocket square a once-over. “Somehow I think you’ll do.” She smiles, and it short-circuits something in my brain. My thoughts are entirely inappropriate for a fake date. They involve sliding that dress off her shoulders, counting each freckle with my tongue…
Get it together, Tremaine. Darcy is asking me a question, and I missed it. “Sorry, what?”
She gives me a curious frown. “Your parents. I thought they were coming along with you?”
“Oh.” Right. “My mom decided she wasn’t up to it.”
Darcy winces. “Oh no.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, but it kind of is. My mother is a weepy mess right now—I saw it with my own eyes. And if my parents bail on the actual wedding next month, Maribel will probably feel bad about it, which just isn’t fair.
“You didn’t need a date after all, then,” Darcy says.
“Sure I did. You think I want to dance by myself?” I offer her my arm, mostly to have something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for other things. “Ready for battle?”
She slides her arm through mine, and the brush of her skin against my wrist sends electricity up my arm. “Yes, Captain.”
I’m so screwed.
“… Except the party is that way. Pay attention.” She redirects us around the side of the gracious building, toward an event space that faces the ocean. Even the sea breeze isn’t enough to cool me off right now. As we approach the entrance, I’m acutely aware of how her hips sway, how the fabric of her dress catches the light. Even the tap of her heels on the wooden steps is doing things to me.
This is going to be the longest night of my life.
“So here’s our game plan,” she says. “I’m going to say hi to my family for approximately seven seconds. You’re going to introduce me to Maribel, who’s the real reason we’re here. And meanwhile, we’re going to scout out the appetizer offerings. If Tessa planned this party, the food will be good. But we’ll still need to be tactical. Why fill up on spinach turnovers if there’s shrimp cocktail or sashimi?”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” I say as we arrive at the doorway of the party.
“I didn’t come here to play. Please pay special attention to any miniature foods we might find.”
“Um… what?”
She gives me a glance like I’m the confusing one. “You know—mini bao buns. Tiny grilled cheese sandwiches. They’re not just regular food made smaller—they’re engineered for maximum flavor impact. Think about it: with a full-sized quiche, you get boring middle bites that are mostly just egg. But with minis? Every single bite has the perfect ratio of crust to filling. It’s like they’ve solved the fundamental problem of food geometry. How could you not notice this?”
“Obviously, something is very wrong with me.”
“We’ll work on it,” she says as we step into the party.
“Yes, ma’am.” I take in the lay of the land. There’s a wooden stage at one end of the room, and a lot of candlelit high-top tables and bar stools for guests. And a distant buffet table.
I don’t spot Maribel just yet, but I hear Darcy sigh. “My family, two o’clock. Might as well get this over with.”
A tall man in an expensive suit catches sight of us and his eyebrows lift. I was expecting a redhead. But even as a blond, he looks enough like Darcy around the eyes that he has to be her father. A polished beauty in her forties stands at his side. That must be his wife, Kandi.
“Pumpkin!” her father calls out, and I feel Darcy’s fingers tighten on my arm. “You made it!”
As we approach, another woman—younger, in a formfitting silver dress—appears at his other side, her perfectly styled hair gleaming under the party lights. Her resemblance to Darcy’s father is even stronger, but where his expression is warm, hers is calculating.
Tessa, I presume.
“Hi, Dad. Kandi. Tessa.” Darcy’s smile looks forced. “Have you met Eric Tremaine?”
Her father’s handshake is firm. “The hockey player! I caught some of your last playoff series. Tough break in game seven.”
I manage not to wince. “Thanks. We’ll get them next year.”
Tessa’s gaze bounces between me and Darcy, and then her eyes narrow. “You two know each other?” Her gaze rakes over me with obvious interest. “How?”