Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Their striking difference is that Mr. Joseph Lowry is warm and almost joyous, while Jackson, his son, is cooler and quieter. It’s hard to get a read on him.
Extending his hand, he gives me a quick handshake and a toothy grin. “Nice to meet you.” Is it? It sure as hell doesn’t seem that way.
“Yes, you too,” I murmur, then take my seat, smoothing my dress underneath me.
“So tell me, Miss Allie.” Mr. Lowry flops down in his chair.
He looks like he’s manspreading under the table. And I hate how he acts like he owns the place, and to hell with anyone sitting on either side—which means Mom, of course, who discreetly scoots her chair a little closer to mine.
I barely remember Mr. Lowry addressing me until he continues once we’re all settled. “What kind of gal are you?”
Gal? Jesus Christ, he’s really playing it up.
“What you see is what you get,” I reply with a tiny shrug. “I’m just... me.”
“Always so modest,” Mom gushes. “Really, I couldn’t have asked for more from a daughter. Never in any trouble, trustworthy, honest. Between us,” she adds with a chuckle while patting my shoulder, “I’m glad she isn’t going all the way back to Seattle. I want to have every second I can get with her before she gets married and has her own children.”
I might have agreed to go through with this farce of a marriage, at least until I can find a way out of it, but I didn’t say anything about children. That’s not fucking happening.
A server comes to take our orders, then disappears like she was never even here.
Fuck, I need a beer.
By the time our food arrives, a persistent ache at the base of my skull has just gotten worse as my future father-in-law runs his mouth about cattle, land, and conservation. Jackson, on the other hand, my future husband, has barely said two words. He’s just sitting there nursing a drink, staring at me like I killed his dog.
Shouldn’t I be the one looking at him that way? Or maybe we should both be looking at our parents that way. They’re the ones acting like this is the greatest thing that ever happened, when it’s obvious to both Jackson and me that this is nothing more than a business arrangement between them. If they want this marriage so badly, then why don’t they get fucking married?
I stare down at the salad my mother ordered for me, because clearly I’m a child who can’t order her own food. A small sigh of frustration leaves me. No. Getting mad won’t change what’s done. I already got the lecture from Mom about eating like a lady tonight. I suppose I should be grateful that she’s allowing me to eat anything at all. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard her or someone else say I should eat less and count my calories. I don’t care what they think of my body. I love my curves. My mouth waters when the men dig into their steaks.
I frown, my appetite suddenly evaporating. How many more meals like this one will I have to endure in the future? Forced to eat a salad. To never speak my mind.
Bored to tears, dealing with a headache, counting down the minutes until I can escape.
“Isn’t that right, son?” Mr. Lowry’s sharp tone makes me jerk my gaze to Jackson. Jackson’s golden head swings from where he was ogling a woman walking past. I bite back a groan. At least he isn’t trying to hide it.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Can’t he do that on his own time?
Mr. Lowry grimaces and nudges his son in the arm, noticing as well. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepen when he chuckles. “Some habits take a while to break.”
If he thinks I’m the type who will sit around and let him make a mockery out of me, he’d better think again. “I hope this isn’t a prediction of what’s to come,” I say softly while digging my nails into my palm out of sight.
My mother’s eyes widen as she freezes, her fork halfway to her lips.
“Of course not. Jackson will respect his marriage vows and be faithful.” Mr. Lowry’s smile slips away as he eyes his son. “Ain’t that right?”
Jackson doesn’t seem to give a shit about this conversation and only smiles. “Of course.”
Sure. He sold that.
“I apologize…” my mother starts, but Mr. Lowry waves her off.
“It’s no worry at all. The last thing we want is for Allie to be uncomfortable.”
If that were true, then he would call off this stupid wedding.
Jackson looks at me, then at my mother, as he stands and pushes his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
I’m pretty sure at least three women swoon nearby. I fight against the desire to roll my eyes as I watch him weave through the tables toward the back.