Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
The woman in the mirror was not someone I recognized.
In the reflection, I caught sight of him. “Are you planning on saying something or just watching me all night?"
Pierce pushed the door the rest of the way open. The way he looked at me made it difficult to breathe.
"I was planning on saying something, but if those are my only two options..."
I gave him a soft smile and turned back to the mirror, fixing my makeup that was already perfect. "Is it showtime?"
"It is." He crossed the room with a large black velvet box in his hands. "You will need to wear this. It's what's going to tell everyone this is real."
I looked at the box. "What is it?"
"My grandmother's pearls." He opened the box carefully. They weren't the classic white, shiny, and uniform. The iridescent shade of ice blue shimmered under the reflected light. In the middle of the strand hung a pendant, a silver “W” in a fine French script.
"They are beautiful," I whispered. My fingers paused mid-air, afraid to touch them.
He set the box on the vanity and lifted the necklace. "May I?"
I nodded and turned toward him, and he slid the pearls over my neck, adjusting them so the W rested in the divot of my clavicle.
"Stunning," he whispered in my ear.
"Too bad it isn't real," I said, mostly to myself.
"I assure you the pearls are very real and very rare." He chose to misunderstand me.
He stepped back. His grandmother's pearls. His mother's dress. His family's crest at my throat. I was being absorbed into the Worthington name whether I wanted it or not, dressed in their dead women's things, about to walk downstairs and perform a love story for a room full of people who had watched Pierce destroy me.
The worst part was how much I wanted it to be real.
* * *
I stood in the shadows of the mezzanine looking down on the ballroom with Pierce by my side. He’d barely let me out of his sight since proposing. If you could call a command to marry a man within the next forty-eight hours a proposal.
He was worried I was still a flight risk.
I was.
I sighed as I looked down on all the splendor.
Tompkins had outdone himself.
The three Venetian glass chandeliers blazed overhead, their crystals throwing fractured light across the vaulted ceiling. White roses and trailing ivy climbed the columns flanking the entrance. The long banquet table gleamed with silver and bone china. Champagne towers caught the candlelight, and the scent of gardenias drifted up the staircase, sweet enough to mask the faint bite of old wood varnish that was Ravenscroft's true perfume.
It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Too bad it was a trap.
I recognized some of the faces. The judge who had presided over my trial, now sampling canapés. The sheriff and his wife. The women clustered in silk, whispering behind champagne flutes. Every one of them had watched Pierce take a sledgehammer to my life. Now they were here to drink his champagne and watch whatever came next.
I was just part of the show. A prop.
"Sir, your guests are arriving," Tompkins said from behind us, his distaste and disapproval clear with every syllable.
"Thank you. I will be down shortly." Pierce dismissed him without turning.
I waited until he was out of earshot.
I rubbed my silk-covered arms. “Do you think he’s here?” I asked, scanning the faces.
Pierce kissed the top of my shoulder. “Not yet, but soon. I have things in hand. Just stick to the plan and everything will be over soon.”
"I trust you," I said.
And the terrifying part was that I meant it.
A throat clearing had us turning.
Greyson walked toward us with his hands held out in front of him, showing that he was unarmed. "I come in peace and with a gift for your new bride."
CHAPTER 58
PIERCE
Madison picked up the skirts of her wedding dress and launched herself down the carpeted corridor into the arms of another woman.
They hugged and clasped hands as they talked over one another.
Greyson approached.
We stood shoulder to shoulder as we watched the girls for a moment.
Without looking at him, I asked, “Are we all set?”
He nodded. “He is waiting in the East Wing. I’m to lure you there under some bullshit pretense.”
“Does he suspect?”
“He’s too drunk and hopped up on rage to be thinking clearly right now.”
“Sounds like my brother.”
Greyson glanced at me. “You’re going to keep your word on this, right? The merger?”
The corner of my mouth lifted as I crossed my arms over my chest. “You fucked my ex-fiancée and conspired with my brother to murder me, and you’re worried about me keeping my word?”
Greyson matched my stance. “For starters it was just a blow job. Besides, she wasn’t right for you.”
“I know.”
“I did you a favor.”
“I know.”
“You could almost say you owe me one.”