Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“He’s the COO of Costa Industries, an unbearable prick, and worst of all, phenomenal at his job. You will notice when we get there that my father treats Bruce like a prized poodle. Senior met Bruce a year before Monica became pregnant with me. They’d tried for years with no luck, so he figured Bruce was his one and only chance at a legacy.”
“What about Bruce’s dad?”
“Irrelevant. Owns a pharmaceutical empire, which will go to Bruce’s older brother, then pass down that lineage.”
“So, Bruce wants into the Costa legacy.”
“Precisely. Months before he discovered Monica’s pregnancy, Senior took Bruce under his wing, signing him with Costa Industries. Bruce has done his bidding since, getting married to a horsey fashion-empire heiress just so her dad would invest in Senior’s endeavors. Senior wants us to be his puppets. Whatever is ours must be his, too.”
Shortbread tucked a tendril behind her ear. “Your daddy sounds even worse than mine.”
“Doubtful.”
“How come?”
“No one decent would ever hand over their precious daughter to someone like me.”
“You admit that you’re horrible, then.” She celebrated with a single fist pump.
“I admit I lack compassion, sympathy, and empathy. Which is why I would have been better off staying single.”
“And your mom?”
“She mainly lacks a backbone. Her compassion levels are adequate.”
Dallas rolled her eyes. “I mean, are you close with her?”
“Not remotely.” I sipped our champagne. “She’s nothing to write home about.”
“Shouldn’t she be your home?”
God, Dallas sounded like a children’s book again. “Enough chitchat, Shortbread. You’re here to look pretty and alive. The free therapy is redundant.”
Dallas sighed. “It’s awful, isn’t it? How, at the end of the day, all we are is a byproduct of our parents’ ambitions, principles, and desires. A collection of memories, mistakes, and unexplainable yearning to please those who gave us life. Look at us.” She gazed out the window, her perfect cupid’s lips drawn downward. “Both stuck in an engagement we want nothing to do with because of our parents.”
I stared at her, the ice block padding my chest somewhat thawing. It was the first profound thing she’d said, and I wondered if other interesting things filled that beautiful head of hers or if this was an accidental soundbite she’d memorized by chance.
Dallas scooted away from me, probably afraid I’d make her almost come again, my new unfortunate hobby. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because,” I said as the Maybach pulled to a stop in front of my parents’ residence, “I think you just unintentionally made sense.”
Chapter Nineteen
Romeo
My parents lived in a French Country-style manor wrapped in Boral bricks. Despite living on the same street, it took a solid ten minutes to reach their gates, followed by another two minutes to traverse their mile-long driveway. Their four-acre house was both grand and understated enough to scream old money. Inviting yellow lights glimmered through the vast windows, illuminating a long table filled with professionally prepared food. I knew that, to anyone who wasn’t me, this looked like the picture of domestic bliss.
I shot Dallas a final warning before pushing the doorbell. “Remember—tonight, you are a well-bred woman.”
“Did someone say bread?” Dallas gasped, playing dumb. “Please tell me there will be gravy, too. Or anything I can dunk it into.”
Monica’s pumps clunked on the other side of the door. As soon as it opened, I thrust Shortbread into her arms, my human sacrifice. “Mother, Dallas Townsend. Dallas, this is Monica, the woman who gave me life, possibly to spite me.”
“My goodness, look at you.” Monica neglected all decorum and etiquette by clutching Dallas’s cheeks with her talons, examining my bride’s delicate face with hysterical pupils. “I won’t pretend I didn’t make some calls to find out more about you. Everyone said you’re gorgeous, but the word doesn’t do you justice.”
Shortbread gathered my usually reticent mother into an embrace with theatric flourish. Though I didn’t particularly like either of them, I was satisfied they were a good match. “Well, Mrs. Costa, I can already see you and I will get along just fine.”
“Please, call me Mom.”
I didn’t even call her Mom. Also, why did she use an exclamation point for every sentence that left her mouth?
“Oh, if you insist. Do you know any good shopping spots around here, Mom?”
“Know?” Monica almost suffered a cardiac arrest. “I have a personal shopper in each of them.” Her eyes caught the pearl necklace Dallas must have stolen from my room. I knew she’d snooped—left her greasy fingerprints everywhere—but just now noticed it on her collar. Monica covered her lips with her fingertips, sparing Senior a glance. “Oh, honey, Rom gave Dallas your great grandmother’s necklace. They really are getting married.”
Behind her, Senior, Bruce, and Shelley peered at Dallas. I studied my father. The hard set of his shoulders. The way they rattled with each exhale. He planted a hand on the railing. For support, I gathered, though he’d never admit it. He hated weaknesses. The bad news was—Senior was still alive. The good news? He seemed a little less so than the last time I’d seen him.