Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
She frowns, staring at the black water, gold flakes in ink from the lights of the yacht and the swirls of stars above.
“Okay,” she says.
She doesn’t push it, but it makes me feel like shit.
Yes, I’m frustrated, but it’s for her own good.
Certainly for mine.
I’m not ready to have Hattie Sage look at me differently.
What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her, and it won’t explode in my face like a screaming rocket.
I hate that a tiny part of me feels like she deserves to know, if there were some way to tell her without opening the gates of hell.
But in six months, we’ll go our separate ways.
And if I have anything to say about it, we’ll split without her ever knowing she married a monster.
15
ALL THE COURAGE (HATTIE)
“So, I made a spreadsheet,” Mom tells me, tapping the tablet she brought with her to lunch.
Ah, here we go.
As far as Mom lunches go, this one has been surprisingly okay so far.
Not entirely insufferable.
She hasn’t pushed me to join her yoga classes ten times yet or scowled at me for grabbing a cup of clam chowder with my lobster salad.
Still, it’s Mom, and that means nothing stays unseen or uncomplicated. It’s never just nice.
If she didn’t come at me, I’d worry about her mental state.
I dig my fork into my salad, spearing leaves and lobster meat with more force than necessary.
“I told you, Mom, we already have a wedding planner. A really fabulous one. She’s like my fairy godmother.” I think it’s the fifth time I’ve had to say it during lunch.
“Oh, well, fairy godmother or not, you can’t leave everything to her, no?” Mom says dismissively.
“She’s literally a professional.”
“Maybe so, but she doesn’t know you like I do, darling. I just think you should consider some feedback for your venues, at least. Water weddings are very in.”
Water weddings.
The words remind me of the recent trip on Leonidas’ yacht.
Well, technically Ethan’s yacht now, even if he’s dead set on selling it eventually.
The past and the present keep blurring into one.
And the way Ethan looked at me out there.
My heart still sputters.
So I know I’ve let my head swell up like a balloon over it.
Making it more than it was. But the way he touched me—
My face heats.
Probably not the best thing with my nosy mother sitting right across from me.
“I don’t want a water wedding. It’s trendy because it’s what every rich person in New England does,” I tell her. “And I know you think you’re helping, but Ethan was pretty clear. He’s even shut out his own sister from any extra duties beyond bridesmaid.”
“I think he could be a little more open, that’s all.”
“He is being open, Mom.”
She sniffs and looks down at her spreadsheet, giving me that practiced kicked puppy look. She’s a master manipulator.
Of course, she’s assembled a detailed list of venues. Plus, menus healthy enough to fit her obsessions, vibrant flower arrangements, everything she’d love at her own wedding.
Everything she still has the nerve to throw in my face.
Apparently, mother of the bride means living vicariously through her daughter.
I’m so tired.
“Have you thought about your wedding party?” she asks, blinking intently. “And the rehearsal dinner, Hattie? The seating arrangements? Can I see your invitation list? Where is it?”
“Holy shit. Mom.” I bite back the urge to tell her she’s not on it. “Could you please just lay off a little?”
“I’m your mother and you’re my only daughter.” She pouts, brows pulling together. “Don’t you want me involved?”
No.
Honestly, I’m not even a little bit excited about bringing her into the wedding.
Even the big day itself…
It’s just a necessity, a giant PR stunt to show off something that’s not real.
Except maybe it does feel real, and I don’t know what to do with that. And now I’m worried that once we do get married, things could change, mutating in terrible ways my heart won’t understand.
“We can leave it to the professionals. Way less stress,” I say again. “I’ve given them my preferences.”
“Your preferences?” She frowns.
“Yes, Mom. Mine and Ethan’s.”
“Well, I’m glad he’ll be involved. Some men can be so hands off.” Her tone doesn’t match her words at all. She sounds more like she’s gritting her teeth. “He always was a lovely boy, so focused. But he should allow you a little more flexibility.”
“I thought our wedding was supposed to be about us?” I huff loudly.
“He’s a man, sweetheart,” she says. “He doesn’t care what happens, really. No man does.”
While that might be true with Ethan, there’s no denying he knows his duty, and he’s determined to check every single detail.
If this was a real wedding, it might be different, but this one’s all optics to help fulfill a contractual obligation.
Still, it feels good knowing I have him right beside me, supporting me through this, helping make all the major decisions.