Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
“Of course.” I guide Mable toward the front rows where my family name reserves us seats. My mother’s eyes find us immediately, but I don’t look at her. I only look at Mable.
We settle into our seats, and I rest my hand on her thigh. Soon the music begins. The bride appears at the end of the aisle, and we all rise to our feet.
But I’m not watching the bride or my brother.
I’m watching Mable as she watches the wedding.
The way her expressive eyes go soft when they say their vows, how a small blush tints her cheeks when the couple kisses.
Mable glances at me when they say “I do.” It’s quick, like she’s wondering if she’s allowed to want that.
I lean down, my mouth brushing her ear. “All the minutes,” I remind her.
She turns her head, her nose almost touching mine, and for a second, I forget there’s a ceremony happening, forget my mother or anyone else for that matter is watching.
“You’re going to make me believe you,” she whispers.
“Good.” That’s the plan. To convince her that I’m her forever and that she’s mine. That I’m not going anywhere.
The crowd applauds. I watch my brother and the bride walk back down the aisle, and I realize I’ve just spent an entire wedding ceremony staring at the woman beside me. I don’t regret a second of it. Hopefully soon we will be having a wedding of our own.
Chapter Eleven
MABLE
The wedding was beautiful, especially the couple. You can tell they’re madly in love.
The reception tent glows against the darkening sky, all white silk and twinkling lights. Wells keeps his hand on the small of my back as we navigate the crowd, his fingers often flexing as if to check that I’m still there. I try not to notice how many eyes follow us.
There is one pair in particular—sapphire blue, with a warm smile—that keeps finding me from across the room and locking eyes. I keep averting my own. Cordelia is even more beautiful in person. The woman is the antithesis of me.
I have been to very nice weddings and events over the years, but this is a whole other level, and I don’t mean the location. I’m talking about the guests here. I recognize many high-ranking officials from all over the world. It’s intimidating but exciting too.
“Caldwell!!” A booming voice cuts through the reception, and suddenly we’re engulfed by a whirlwind of energy. The groom, I realize. Julian looks nothing like his brother—where Wells is dark and controlled, Julian is golden and vibrating with life. “You made it! Mom said you were bringing a mystery woman, and here she is!”
He sweeps me into a hug before I can react. “Julian,” he announces, like I couldn’t have guessed. “The more charming brother. And obviously better looking.”
“Clearly,” I say, and he throws his head back and laughs. It’s loud but the kind of laugh that makes you smile because they do it with their whole chest.
“Oh, I like her.” Julian claps his hand down hard on his brother’s shoulder.
“Well, I like her more, if you don’t mind.” Wells tugs me back to his side. “Hug your own wife.”
Julian laughs again. “Don’t mess this up, Caldwell. I can tell she’s a good one.” He winks at me. He’s a whole lot more welcoming than their mother. Who I thankfully haven’t had to talk to again. I’m not sure how to handle that. After the way she treated me at the spa, I have no desire to have a conversation with her. But I know it’s inevitable.
“Working on it,” Wells mutters, but he’s smiling.
The bride is suddenly stepping toward us. She’s beautiful in a simple white dress, dark hair loose around her shoulders, and there’s something calm about her even in the middle of this circus. “Ignore him,” she says, extending her hand. “He thinks volume equals charm.”
“Doesn’t it?” Julian grins, unbothered.
Emery rolls her eyes, but I can tell it’s an endearment. She turns to me, and her smile is genuine. “I’m so glad you’re here. These events can be overwhelming. If you need an escape route, find me. I know all the hidden terraces.”
“I might take you up on that,” I admit.
She squeezes my hand before Julian drags her toward another group, already shouting greetings. She looks back once, giving me a small nod of encouragement.
“She’s nice,” I say to Wells.
“She’s perfect for him. Grounds him.” He snags two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, handing me one. “Julian’s the favorite. The charming one. I’m the...” He searches for the word.
“The brooding heir?” I suggest.
“Something like that.”
I sip my champagne, scanning the room. And there she is again—Cordelia, laughing at something an older man says, but her eyes flick to me, to Wells, to his hand on my waist. The smile never drops, but her eyes tell a different story. She’s pissed.