Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Oh shit. I need a dress.”
Chapter 14
ALLIE
That’s not a Christmas party in those pictures. It’s freaking Gatsby’s era all over again. He’s right; I’d look like a sore thumb at a party like this wearing my cute little purple halter-top dress. These are gowns… extravagant gowns meant for royalty.
Who the hell is Wren Prize? And what have I gotten myself into?
“Wren, I think I’ve changed my mind about going to this party,” I groan.
No way can I splurge on a dress good enough for this thing.
Are those real diamonds? Oh shit. They are. That girl’s dress is trimmed with real diamonds.
“No. You’re going. And I promise you’ll fit right in after we leave Uncle Paul’s store.”
Paul Colton? There’s no way I can afford a Colton dress. Hell, I can’t afford a knockoff. But if I tell Wren that, he’ll just insist on paying for it. And I can’t take his money.
“Is there another store we could go to?” I ask, wondering if I could find a cheap dress that looks expensive. I’ve done that numerous times in the past.
“Not one good enough for this party or for you,” he says absently, but for some reason, I freaking blush. What is wrong with me? I’m too old to be blushing like a teenager, but there’s something about Wren.
I was supposed to hate him, dammit! Seven years—seven long years, I’ve hated him. How is it possible that just a few months has seemed to erase years of hurt?
Sighing, I lean back, trying to think of a way to get out of this. Maybe there are some huge sales in there. Like, ninety-nine percent off or something.
Dream on, Allie.
Wren pulls into the enormous, far-too-classy-for-me store parking lot, and I feel my stomach knot up.
“I can’t go in there looking like this,” I hiss, which has him laughing. I seriously think he loves laughing at me.
“They won’t care about how you look, Allie. I swear. I’ll be beside you. Come on,” he says through a lingering laugh, and my stomach flips again.
I wish he’d put that damn smile away. It really should be illegal.
His dark hair brushes over his brow, hanging in that way that makes him look like a bad boy, but I know now that Wren Prize isn’t the bad boy I hated him for being. And it’s making me my head hurt.
My eyes flit over the large silver “C” that is proudly displayed on the front of the stone-gray stucco store. I’m torn between hyperventilating and taking pictures for Bella. She’d die if she knew I was coming here.
My door opens, and Wren puts his hand out for me to take. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, I slip my hand into his without hesitation, and he pulls me out of the car before locking it. When he doesn’t let go of my hand, I’m thankful. I think it’ll be best if these people honestly believe I’m with him, because I might get kicked out for the way I look, otherwise.
He threads our fingers together as we walk into the store, and I run through the confusing thoughts of how at ease I feel with him. I stare at our hands, looking at how perfectly his holds mine, guarding it with care almost. It’s a simple gesture that could mean something so much more, or an innocent touch that means nothing at all.
I. Sound. Stupid. He’s just holding my frigging hand, and I’m really overanalyzing it.
“Mr. Prize,” a dark-haired girl says with dreamy eyes and a huge smile, snapping me out of my ridiculous reverie. “Were we expecting you?” she asks, her eyes unable to peel themselves away from him.
At least it’s not just me he affects. Apparently we all get stupid around him. Good. Now I don’t feel as bad.
“No. This was spur of the moment. I need something that is going to look stunning on her for the Sterling Shore Christmas party, and send me the bill.”
My grip on his hand tightens, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The girl looks me over, and her smile falters, but she works real damn hard not to let him see it. She studies me with a shrewd eye, looking me over from head to toe, then she returns her attention back to him, now wearing a fake smile instead of a real one.
“Of course. I’ll go set up a fitting room. Any particular line?”
Wren shakes his head, pulling me closer when I try to back away. “Just make sure it’s one-of-a-kind.”
This time, her fake smile manages to falter noticeably, and I get a little nauseated. It’s not like a normal store. Hell, there’s a waiting area off to the side, and this is like a small foyer. Do you need an appointment to get in here normally?
Wren starts tugging me through a doorway, and I ignore the girl who is probably wondering what in the hell I’m doing in a place like this with a guy like Wren.