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)
There’s a long, silent, excruciating beat.
To be perfectly honest, Kat’s starting to piss me off. For fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking Faraday and I just offered to marry her—how the fuck is she not leaping at the chance? I’m doing the right thing, without hesitation or waffling, despite the fact that, as I’ve mentioned to her quite clearly, marriage isn’t something I’ve ever contemplated doing before this very moment and despite the fact that she’s the one who fucked up here, not me. I’d say I deserve a fucking medal, not the daggers Kat’s throwing at me with her eyes. If my dad were here watching this exchange, I can only imagine how that vein in his neck would be bulging with fury.
“You want me to reply?” Kat says coldly.
I nod—but by the tone of Kat’s voice, I’m not so sure.
“Okay, then I will.” She shifts her weight in her chair, obviously gearing up to decimate me. “Thank you for your noble proposal of marriage, good sir. That was an admirable thing to do. You really should feel quite proud of yourself for displaying such unimpeachable integrity and bravery in the face of such horrific and victimizing circumstances.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Only Kat could make a whole bunch of words generally regarded as complimentary sound like a string of curse words.
“I didn’t expect you to ask me to marry you,” she continues. “Not in a million years. I’m genuinely impressed with how quickly you rose to what you perceive to be your obligation. Thank you for that, good sir.”
I nod. That’s right. I rose to my obligation. But I’m confused. Kat’s words and body language are completely at odds. It feels like she’s doing that licking-and-punching-my-balls-thing she always does. And why the fuck does she keep talking like she’s in a miniseries on fucking PBS?
“But,” Kat adds, her voice prim, “although I’m infinitely grateful to you for swooping in to save me from this incredible cluster-fuck of a situation that will surely heap shame and disgrace upon my family’s good name, I think I’ll have to politely decline your kind and generous offer, good sir.” Kat grits her teeth again. “I think I’d rather take my chances, however slim, that there might be a man out there who’ll one day ask me to marry him simply because he’s fallen head over heels in love with me to the point of actually wanting to marry me, the crazy son of a bitch, despite the fact that, by that time, I’ll be the mother of another man’s goddamned kid.”
I blink quickly. What the fuck did Kat just say to me? Motherfucker! Did Kat just break up with me to marry some other hypothetical guy—and with my fucking kid in tow?
“Excuse me?” I say, suddenly enraged.
“You heard me,” Kat says, jutting her chin at me. “I said no.”
“What the fuck, Kat!” I bark, rising out of my seat. I know I’m talking way too loudly for this small waiting room but I can’t control myself. “You can’t say something like that to me—I’m a fucking Faraday!”
Kat looks around the waiting room, obviously embarrassed. “Sit down, Josh. Jesus.”
I glower over her for a moment longer, but then I sit, clenching my jaw.
“You can’t say shit like that to me,” I grit out in a hoarse whisper. “Now’s not the time to be a terrorist, Kat. You’re pregnant with my kid—so don’t talk to me about running off into the sunset with some other guy. You’re my Party Girl with a Hyphen and you’re not marrying some other guy with my goddamned kid in tow.” I take a deep breath. “Now I’m gonna ask you one more fucking time—and this is the last time I’m gonna ask you, so don’t blow it.” My nostrils flare. “Will. You. Fucking. Marry. Me?”
Kat’s lip curls with blatant disgust. “Nooooooo,” she says, forming the long “O” sound like she’s falling down a thirty-foot well.
“What the fuck?” I say. I still can’t believe I’m hearing her right. “No?”
“No.” She squints her eyes like she’s taking aim with a shotgun. “Nooooooooooooooooo,” she says again, this time emphasizing the “O” sound like she’s falling down a fifty-foot well. “Thank you very much for being such a duty-bound gentleman, good sir,” she says through gritted teeth. “Believe me, I know you’re doing me a huge frickin’ favor—a massive fucking favor—especially since you’re a Faraday and my family is but an assemblage of lowly commoners without a noble title to our shameful name. Goodness, I really, really appreciate your infinite generosity good sir.” She rolls her eyes. “But no fucking thank you, Sir J.W. Faraday. This isn’t 1815. I’d rather just figure my shit out on my own and roll the dice that even a harlot from a simple family of serfs might one day get to marry for love instead of motherfucking obligation.”