Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Bridget
Fine.
Brat. I’m waiting.
A few minutes later, a screenshot comes through. The message is there but not yet marked as sent.
That doesn't say sent yet.
Bridget
Oh my god, Declan, it's sent now, okay?
She sends a second screenshot to prove it.
Watch that attitude.
Bridget
Or what?
No ice cream.
Bridget
You promised me!
Fine. Can you be ready in ten?
Chapter Fourteen
BRIDGET
Declan is outside my window. Declan and my guards, of course.
Cavin’s decided that I need a guard with me at all times. Part of me wonders if Declan had something to do with that too. So when I go downstairs in yoga pants, one of the men standing outside looks at me.
“Going somewhere? At night?”
“You don't have to follow.”
“I'm not allowed to let you go without—”
“I've got her.” Declan is standing on the far side of the car, one hand on the door. He narrows his eyes. “McGovern. You tell anyone about this, and I'll fucking kill you.”
God, why is he so hot?
McGovern clears his throat. “But the trackers, sir—”
“I'll message Cavin myself.”
McGovern takes a seat on the front step, with the long-suffering look of a man who has learned to pick his battles, and I slide into the passenger seat. Every time I do, it feels like sand dropping through an hourglass.
He’s going to be married. My best friend is going to be married. I’m going to watch it happen firsthand, and I will smile because I love him enough to give him that. I know this. I’ve known it for months, but I’m still getting in the car.
“I reckon Cavin knows more than he lets on,” I say.
Declan sighs. “He was the one who told me you hadn't gone to the doctor yet, woman.”
“I did contact him though.”
I shrink in my seat. I did send the message. I just don’t tell him I got an automated response back that Dr. Rosenberg is on holiday for the next week.
I'll go, just not now. Telling Declan might ruin a good man's vacation because he's kind of like that. Absurdly, terrifyingly overprotective.
I have no idea why I asked him to come. This is the worst form of torture. I reach for my necklace, but I forgot it. Nooo. I try not to think of that as an omen.
He squeezes my knee. “Lickety Split?”
“Is there any other?”
I haven't been hungry today. I don't tell him I vomited up breakfast and that lunch was a handful of dry crackers. Even water is making me nauseous, so I'm definitely dehydrated. “I'm feeling really good right now,” I say instead. “Vanilla gelato.”
He looks at me curiously. “No chocolate?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Chocolate sounds terrible right now.”
“You are sick,” he says, shaking his head as he puts his hand to my forehead in a gesture that’s meant to be teasing but is so unintentionally sweet my eyes go a little blurry. He’s right. I hate vanilla.
I’m sure he meant it to tease, but I stifle a flinch I’m glad he doesn’t notice.
He parks, shrugs out of his suit jacket and throws it in the back, unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt, and sighs—one of those deep, bone-tired sighs that seems to go all the way to his toes.
“Aw, Dec. You look tired. You need this as much as I do. How's Valentina?” I ask, trying to be polite. Trying to be a good friend.
He makes a face. “She doesn't eat mammals, Bridget.”
I blink. “There are loads of vegetarians, Declan. I used to have a friend—”
“No, she's not a vegetarian. It's some poultry thing. Something about ascension. I don't know.” He waves his hand.
“Oh.” I consider this. “She's very pretty though.”
He gives me the look—the one that says, Are you serious right now?—without his mouth having to do any of the work. I hold his gaze.
Because I am serious. It's fine. He can be with a very pretty woman who doesn't eat mammals. That's fine.
“So how are you doing? Other than being—you?”
“Grand. Passing the time. You?”
“Reading a delicious werewolf romance.”
He stares. “A what?”
“Werewolf romance. They turn into wolves. They're strong and powerful and—” I pause. “It’s, uh, kinky.”
He makes a strangled sort of noise. “Kinky. Werewolves.”
“Says the man who introduced me to the world of kink.” I reach across the counter because they've just put our order up, and the sight of that gelato does something genuinely emotional to me. My stomach growls. This is going to be extraordinary.
“I asked for triple whipped cream,” I say as we take our cups outside.
“Who the fuck asks for triple whipped cream?” a voice says behind us.
I turn. A big guy in a hooded black sweatshirt is looking at me like the question was aimed at me personally.
And Declan goes very, very still. It’s not the way he stills when he’s angry or worried. There’s a difference, and I don’t know why. His hand found my elbow before I’d even turned around, like he already knew what was behind us.