Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
If I’m going to marry this man, I want it to be at least cordial. I don’t want or expect love—that’s so far out of the question that it’s nearly obscene to consider—but friendship could blossom one day. I want this to work at any rate, since I only ever planned on marrying and marrying once—people in my world don’t get divorced. That’s not the Irish Catholic way. Which means when I say those vows, I say them for real, forever, until the day I die.
I don’t want there to be any surprises at the wedding. Which means meeting him now, getting a feel for the man, at least seeing what he looks like. He might be a troll, an ogre, or he might be a tiny little elf; I’ve no clue what to expect. But I want to get it out of the way here, right now, so that I can commit myself to this plan and make it work.
Rian holds onto my arm. “Alright, Fallie, that’s them. Once his people move away, he’ll stay there alone, and you’ll approach. I’ll remain here with Paddy and Darragh.”
“You really did choreograph this, didn’t you?”
“Everyone’s on edge. This is all so that nobody gets jumpy and tries something stupid.”
“What’s there to try, Chim?”
“Maybe they decide we’re better off dead.”
“They could’ve tried that a dozen times already. No, I think they’re committed to this too.”
“I think you’re right, but Papa taught me to always be careful.”
“See where that got him?”
He gives me a look. “Not funny.”
“Alright. Not funny.” I jostle from foot to foot, nervous energy rushing through me. “Hells, I feel like I might break to a thousand little pieces. I’m about to meet my future husband.”
“You’ll be okay. Just be yourself.”
“Terrible advice. Who the hell else would I be?”
“Okay then, be the version of you that isn’t a mouthy weirdo jackass.”
“Ah, now that’s much better.” He lets me go when I punch his arm. “That’s for being a dick, Chim.”
“Alright, Fallie. They’re moving. Go on, I’m right here.”
I nod and stare at the man left behind. He’s tall, broad, and muscular. An athletic physique. Wearing a black suit that clings to him. Not a bad start.
“Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Fallie.”
I march off, head held high, suddenly self-conscious of my simple skinny jeans, my sweater, and my coat. My hair’s a mess from the wind, and I maybe could’ve gone a little harder on the make-up, but hells, it doesn’t matter now. I’m here. It’s happening.
I’m about to meet my future husband.
The man turns to me as I approach. My heart starts to race. The tips of my ears heat up. And I swear, my nipples go hard, half from the chill but mostly from a sudden excitement, which is a horrible thing, but at least he won’t see through my layers.
The man is gorgeous.
Drop-dead handsome like an actual model.
It’s not right, seeing a man looking so damn attractive, just standing there.
Square jaw, the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin, dark hair and dark eyes, these full lips like fluffy clouds. Kissable lips. Suckable lips. Biteable.
But it’s not just his mouth, which is lovely on its own, but there’s his muscular chest, his big shoulders, his strong hands. The guy’s got one hell of a physique, built and toned like he spends half his waking hours in a gym. His clothes are expensive, perfectly fitted, and almost erotic in the way they cinch at his thighs. He’s got some legs on him, this muscular man. Did I know I was a thigh girl? This man has incredible thighs. The sort of thighs I could lick.
My mind’s going haywire. I’m getting a little too horny at the moment, and I know it’s only nerves. My stupid squirrel-brain’s shorting out because of how huge this moment is and I’m focusing way too much on his looks to distract myself from the magnitude of what this means.
But my God, he really is gorgeous.
I stop a few feet away. He looks at me with this steady gaze, slowly taking me in. Not trying to hide it either, which I kind of like. I’m used to men like him, confident men that know what they want and aren’t afraid of it. I’m not shy myself.
He gives me the once-over, looking down and back up, and his lips quirk slightly.
He likes what he sees.
That sends a thrill into my guts.
Which is dumb, considering Jayson Costa is my mortal enemy.
Yes, he’s hot, but I can’t forget who he is and what he’s done.
Guilt crushes down on me and I lose some of the excited edge as I remember poor dead Papa and his freshly dug grave.
“Hello,” I finally say, breaking the tense silence.
He draws himself up, standing straight. I’m around five-foot-four, and I’d put him over six feet, easy. The guy could crush me between those big thighs of his. Ah hells, the thighs again.