Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I have never in my life given anyone googly eyes, but I think that’s what I’m doing here.
“If I can make you believe that life is worth living, and it can be absolutely great, will you call off the wedding?”
“I know life is worth living.” I make a sort of growl low in my throat that is nothing short of defensive. She ignores it, shooting me a grin that makes my stomach cramp like I just consumed ten tacos.
For my not-so-sweet sixteenth birthday, friends in high school took me out. The night rapidly turned into an eating contest. I managed to get thirteen tacos down. In the back alley behind the taco joint, about half an hour after the last one, they all came up, but it felt more like eighty-four and not thirteen. To this day, I cannot even look at a taco without wanting to throw up a little in my mouth.
“You don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be locking yourself into a contracted marriage for the sake of business. I’m sure the deal could have been done without that side bit thrown in, yet you still agreed. If it couldn’t have been done, then you should have told that guy to go fack himself. Except, you know, not fack.” She glances around her office, her eyes sweeping to the glass walls like all her coworkers have magically appeared and are pressed up against the front of it like kids in a candy store.
I half expect to see a full stampede fogging up the glass, but when I turn and look, my nape prickling at being so exposed in here, there’s nothing.
And it’s not the glass that makes me feel stripped down.
It’s this woman with her huge eyes, innocent expression, and total lack of a filter. It’s her wild proposition, and it’s most definitely the way the universe dropped her into my life. I haven’t stopped thinking about her for a second. It’s the way she should, by rights, want to nut-punch me so hard that I have to talk in falsetto for the rest of my days. But somehow, she’s offering me this magical alternative as though she’s a clairvoyant or maybe a fairy, and she was set directly into my path to divert me from disaster.
“You’ll plan my wedding?” I pretty much choke out. She’s the last person I should be asking, but the silver lining is that at least I don’t ask her if she’s human and not fey. Or selkie. Or a unicorn.
Hey, it could happen. Probably. Maybe. There are so many things out there in the universe that we don’t understand.
“I’ll plan for you the best-darned wedding anyone has ever seen, but only if you agree to my terms.” A sly smile curls over her lips, but it bursts into a beautiful full grin that shows off her slightly crooked eyeteeth. She looks so alive and so animated, all while sitting still, that rather inappropriate parts of my anatomy think it’s a great time to test drive their awakening.
I shove my hands over my lap while Bellatrix studies me with an intense, unwavering stare.
She’s only voicing what I just implied.
I could choose someone else. I should choose someone else. Anyone else. I should be hightailing it out of here, away from these weird coincidences and her massive hazel eyes. They were swamped with sadness the night she walked into the lounge and played the most beautiful music I have ever known, but now they’re dancing. Alight. Otherworldly.
“If I don’t agree, are you going to hex me?”
She frowns.
I frown.
Where the hell did that come from?
“I’m afraid I don’t know any hexes. My skills extend solely to helping people join their lives together, not ruining them. And if I did know of anything or anyone who could do that and do it properly, I wouldn’t be hexing you. I’d be calling up your poor fake fiancée who is in love with someone she can’t legally marry or have the world acknowledge without her family disowning her, and I’d get them to work some magic on her overbearing father.”
“How do you know he’s overbearing?” I’m starting to get a weird feeling about this.
Not starting.
Rather, it’s intensifying.
She quirks a brow. “Do you really need to ask that?”
Right, okay. The what the fuck look she’s giving me is well-earned. To her credit, when I got into this office, she sat through my entire explanation without giving in to the urge to grant me one of those, though I’m sure she had to want to. Badly.
I want to give myself a what the fuck look now that I’ve had to explain it a few times.
Bellatrix opens up a crisp white file folder that she produces from the cupboard behind her desk. In it is a blank contract.
“Are you giving me total creative freedom?” she asks, one brow raised.