Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
When we reach the jet on the tarmac, a pilot in full uniform descends the retractable stairs and greets us. Josh leads me up the stairs and directs me to a window seat.
“You need anything?” Josh asks as I settle into my seat. “Club soda? A barf bag?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m good. I haven’t barfed in a few days, actually.”
“Hey, give that girl a salami,” Josh says, grinning. “Will you do me a favor and hang out here for a minute, PG? I’ve got to talk briefly to the pilot about the flight plan.”
“Is it okay if I send Sarah a photo of my necklace?”
“Of course,” Josh says. “It’s yours, after all.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “You just made my heart skip a beat.”
Josh grins. “I’ll be right back, baby.” He winks and disappears down the stairs.
I pull my phone out of my clutch bag, take a quick selfie (making sure my dazzling necklace is front and center), and shoot the photo off to Sarah, tapping out a quick message along with it. “OMFG,” I write. “I’m sitting on a PRIVATE PLANE wearing THIS!”
“Really? Wow! Amaaaaazing!” Sarah writes back instantly. “Where are you going?”
“I have no freaking clue!!!!!!” I write. “Josh dressed me in a Pretty Woman red dress and gave me this ridicky diamond necklace—TO KEEP!!!!!!—and told me he’s gonna love me ‘FOREVER’ and called me ‘MY LOVE’! And he didn’t pass out or hurl during any of it! And now we’re on a private jet heading to I DON’T CARE WHERE!”
“No way! That’s so exciting! WOWZERCATS!”
Even in text, something about Sarah’s reply feels canned to me. I shoot a snarky look at my display screen. “Oh, Sarah Cruz,” I write. “You’re the worst liar ever, even in text. I hope when you’re a lawyer you wind up defending only innocent people because, otherwise, your guilty clients are all going straight to prison.”
“LOL,” Sarah writes. “First off, I’m not gonna practice criminal law—I’ll be working for Gloria’s House helping women get restraining orders and stuff. Second off, I like the fact that I’m a horrible liar. It’s one of my best qualities.” She attaches a scared-face emoji to the end of her message.
“You already knew about the necklace, didn’t you?” I write.
“Of course. Do you really think I would have chosen working with my mom today over celebrating the big reveal of Gracie Louise Faraday? Come on, girl!”
“Yeah, I thought it was weird you were turning down an opportunity to drink champagne,” I write. “So, hey, will you go shopping with me when I get back? I’m suddenly feeling the urge to buy lots and lots of PINK!!!!! Woohooooooo!”
“Hellz yeah!!!” Sarah writes. “I’m already planning to buy my sweet little niece a pair of her very own pink, sparkly boots! Yeehaw!”
I laugh out loud and begin tapping out a reply, but before I can finish my message, a text notification comes in from Josh.
“Raise the blind on your window and look outside,” Josh’s text says.
“Gotta go,” I quickly type to Sarah. “The director of our mini-porno just told me to take my mark. Teehee. I’ll give you a full report later, girlio.”
“You better,” Sarah writes. “Have fun, Kitty Kat!” She attaches a cat emoji and a heart.
“Meow,” I write, followed by a salsa dancer (the emoji I always use to symbolize Sarah), plus a heart of my own.
I put my phone back into my sparkling clutch and then, as instructed, slowly raise the window blind and peek outside.
No.
Impossible.
Joshua William Faraday has just killed me. I’m officially dead. RIP Katherine Ulla Morgan. It’s been a great life.
Josh is standing below me on the tarmac in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, staring up with a smoldering expression on his handsome face—and with his arm in a freakin’ sling!
“Stop!” I yell toward the cockpit, even though the airplane isn’t moving (and the engines aren’t even on). “Stop!” I shriek again, leaping dramatically up from my chair. My brain isn’t processing coherent thought right now, it’s true, but I don’t need conscious thought to know what I’m supposed to do in this scene—I’ve seen it in The Bodyguard twenty times, after all.
I burst down the stairs of the plane as fast as I can manage in my tight-fitting dress and towering heels and sprint (sort of) to Josh. And when I reach him, I throw my arms around his neck, hyperventilating. “Josh,” I gasp. “I love you, I love you, I love—”
Josh’s tongue slides into my mouth, shutting me up, while his free hand caresses my back—and when he pulls away from our kiss, his eyes are on fire. “Katherine Ulla Morgan,” he says, his voice intense. “I. Will. Always. Love. You.”
I squeal loudly, completely enthralled.
“I know marriage isn’t in the cards for us,” Josh says, “since neither of us wants that kind of hoopla, as we’ve discussed.” One side of his mouth hitches up. “But I hope you’ll accept this gift as a symbol of my eternal love for you.” He pulls a skinny, rectangular jewelry box out of his pocket.