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)
“Yes,” I whisper as he drags my mouth back to his. “Yes!”
Growling, he nods, cupping my face in his hands as he pushes into me and finds his rhythm.
“Hattie, fuck,” he whispers, right before his curses become incoherent desire.
We kiss like we’re starved, holding each other so tight, our bodies melding together in a new symphony.
This doesn’t feel like fucking anymore.
It hits all the right notes for that, yes, but it’s so much more. Too intimate to be so limited.
With my nails dragging down his back, I open my legs wider and let him take me.
Today, Ethan makes love to me for the very first time.
When his hips crash against mine and drive deep, when his groan becomes a roar, when he thrusts in to the hilt and the first rope of his come douses me in flames, I’m so gone.
I close my eyes against the pleasure, the emotion, the bittersweet hope and heartache and humility overflowing in my chest.
Like it or not, it’s happening.
I’m falling for this tortured man, and it scares me senseless.
“What do you think?” Margot asks, holding up a handful of deep red roses.
Each one looks so perfect from petals to stem, it feels like they can’t be natural. Even the color is crazy vibrant and uniform.
But my mind can’t stop and smell the roses today, let alone come up with original puns. Standing in the finest floral shop in Portland doesn’t help.
Ethan wanted to tell me his secret.
I didn’t drag it out of him.
He came home from work early with his confession ready, and we made love three more times that night, staying up well past midnight without even talking much.
Just being together in the afterglow was enough.
It still feels like one of those beautiful dreams you never want to end.
Like at any moment, I’ll wake up, the illusion will vanish, and I’ll be plunged back into reality, where he’s distant and growly and only tolerates my existence as a means to an end.
But so far, it hasn’t happened.
In the dreamland that’s becoming our life, he’s still this wonderful, hurting, precious man. And I’m just Hattie Sage, new bookstore owner.
I’m no one special.
Possibly not even special enough to carry his secret with the care it deserves.
I can barely keep up with living.
How can I handle this dark shadow hanging over his life, and by extension mine?
How can I shelter him?
It was easy when I believed this was nothing.
Everything was easy when we only expected make-believe with a six-month countdown to get back to our real lives.
But somewhere along the way, lines blurred.
Ethan Blackthorn chose me to be more than his partner in this fake marriage crime.
In over a decade, he hasn’t told a soul, until he chose me.
Overwhelming.
Dizzying to have his trust.
Now, I can’t help wondering if he’s made a mistake, if I can trust myself.
What if I slip up and say something? What if something else happens that won’t keep this tragedy buried forever?
“Hey!” Margot snaps her fingers under my nose. “Earth to Hattie. Come in, book babe. Do I need to break out the smelling salts? Where are you today?”
“Um.” Quite literally world-altering secrets and heartbreaking sex with her brother is not the answer she’s looking for. “Right. The bookstore. There’s so much to sort out. I’ve barely just started on the financials. Thank God for the CPA or I’d really be lost.”
“Bookstore later. Flowers now.” She shakes the roses at me. “What do you think about these?”
I rub one velvety leaf. “Are they real?”
“Oh, yeah! Best florist in town, I told you this place doesn’t disappoint. You couldn’t find roses this red if you painted them yourself…” Her voice falters as she lowers the roses to her lap with a frown. “Hattie, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little stressed over the big day. You know I suck at being the center of attention and all, but I guess pretty flowers take the pressure off a little.” I look around the florist’s shop—approved by both Margot and Mrs. Anne Radish, our wedding planner—and try to absorb the sheer number of flower options.
Unfortunately, lilies are out no matter how much I love them. They’re just not marriage material.
Margot keeps reminding me how much flowers mean at big, fancy weddings. They’re a statement piece and in her words, ‘they need to scream.’
Not what I love to hear when my heart prefers low-key and elegant.
“Not the roses,” I decide. “They’re a little too…” Much. “Perfect.”
Margot frowns at them, a tiny wrinkle forming between her eyes. “Hey, it’s your wedding day and you can basically afford anything. But don’t you want perfect?”
“I want natural. Modest, too. I know that’s a crazy concept for a billionaire wedding, but you asked.”
“Okay, okay. How about we look at the peonies then?” She waves her hand at a bunch of peach flowers. My gut knots at the sight of them.