Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“Cavin McCarthy replaced them.” My father doesn't look up from his paper. “His men watch you now. Anywhere you go, they go.”
Bridget stares at me. “Cavin?”
“He says he texted you, but you didn’t respond. In fact, he said something about how he thinks you may have blocked him?” my father says to me.
“I did.”
“Erin!” Bridget gapes at me. “You can't block your own fiancé!”
“Watch me.” I cross my arms. “I don't want to hear from him.”
“You're marrying him,” she says, as if that explains everything. “He’s your fiancé!”
“Stop calling him that!”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” she says, taking my phone from me. “Refusing to face reality won’t change it.”
“Bridget, don’t.”
But it’s too late. She’s flipping through my contacts, and she finds where I blocked Cavin. With a flourish, she undoes it.
“Erin, I know you don’t want to marry him, but you can’t block him. What if he tells you something important that you need to know?”
“Like what?”
“Like details about your engagement party, or like the fact that you have a new guard.” She shakes her head. “You’re going to have to give something up, Erin.”
Only Bridget could lecture me about this without getting an earful. Give something up? I want to laugh. I'm giving everything up.
“Fine.” I snatch my phone back. “Unblock him. Whatever.”
My father's lips twitch, almost amused.
“I hate him,” I announce to the room. “I want that on record.”
“I know,” Bridget says. “That has nothing to do with it, practically speaking. What if there’s a theme for an event that you’re going to? What if he’s picking you up? What if he wants to buy you something?” she says coyly.
“I don’t want him to buy me anything.” I cross my arms over my chest to emphasize the point.
“He has to. He’s going to be your future husband.”
My mother mutters under her breath, throws her hands up in the air, and storms into the other room.
My father watches us with interest. “They’re up front,” he says. “Look like decent blokes.”
I peer out the window, and when they turn to face me, I immediately hide.
“Oh my god, there are three of them. Jesus, how are we going to go anywhere without people knowing who we are?”
“Those days are gone, love,” he says quietly.
“Haven’t you seen, Erin?” Bridget says. She can’t completely hide the grimace that shadows her features.
“Seen what?”
My blood runs cold when she takes my phone back because she looks like she’s about to cry.
“My god, you don’t even have socials on your phone, do you?”
“I hate social media.”
“Fine then, look at mine.” She pulls out her phone. “It’s the St. Albert’s account. Nobody really knows who runs it,” she says, and points to a post—a sparkly post, with glitter and lights and flashing bulbs.
St. Albert’s is pleased to announce the betrothal of Erin Kavanagh and Cavin McCarthy.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
There are twenty thousand views and 666 comments. “Mam would say that’s bad luck. 666,” Bridget says with a giggle. “But it’s not, see? It’s actually a good sign.”
“How is that a good sign?” I ask her, throwing my hands up in the air. “It’s the sign of the devil or whatever.”
My father actually chuckles. I haven’t heard him laugh in a couple of months.
“Oh stop. It’s an angel number. Some say it’s a wake-up call to rebalance your life. A message to refocus on relationships and inner growth. And since when are you religious?” she asks.
“Since when are you into New Age?”
Something flickers in her eyes that makes my stomach clench. “Since I started counting down instead of up. When you know the clock’s running out, you look for signs everywhere, even the daft ones.”
I swallow hard. “Well, what do the comments say?” I ask in a small voice. And I don’t like that it’s a small voice. I want to be proud and confident and—my god, I’m marrying Cavin McCarthy. I want to cry or break things or both. Maybe cry while breaking things.
“They’re like, um…” Bridget frowns. She narrows her eyes at the screen. “You don’t need to read these,” she says. “Just ignore them, okay?”
“Ignore what?” I tell her. I snatch her phone away and scroll through the comments.
Siobhan_M_94: Lol imagine being so desperate you marry a McCarthy. We all know what she had to do to land him
FionaKav: Little miss perfect finally snagged the bad boy? She probably made him sign a contract. Five quid says she's already correcting his grammar in bed
Celtic_Rose: That frigid bitch made my brother's life hell at St. Albert's. Got him suspended twice for BREATHING wrong. She probably has a spreadsheet for their wedding night. Hope Cavin knows what he's getting into.
I don't know these people. How do they even know who I am? Why do strangers hate me while treating Cavin like a god?
Then I scroll to the photos, and my breath catches. Oh. Oh.