Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“It’s the smell that gets you,” Neil warned. “It sticks in your nose, and you’re stuck wrapped around their little fingers for the rest of their lives.”
“Like you weren’t going to be, anyway,” I teased. The song was ending, and I spotted Emma coming out to reclaim her child.
“Let’s get off our feet a moment, shall we?” Neil gave Olivia a final kiss before I handed her off to Emma, and we unceremoniously stole two seats at a table near the dance floor.
“Oy, fucko! That’s my chair!” Ian came toward us with a huge, congratulatory smile on his face. Neil got up and offered his hand, but Ian pushed his arm aside and went in for a bear hug instead. When they parted, Ian came to me and took the hand I offered, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Always good luck, getting a kiss from the bride.”
“Sit with us,” Neil said, and Ian pulled up an unoccupied chair from the next table.
“Look at the two of you,” Ian said, sighing as he sat down. “Like a pair of salt and pepper shakers. Neil, you’re the salt, on account of the white hair.”
“I do not have white hair!” Neil laughed, but reached up to his head with unconscious defensiveness.
“Nah, mate, you look like you’ve been struck by fucking lightning.” He leaned back with an elbow on the table. “I’m happy for the two of you. I don’t know what you see in him, Sophie, but god bless you for taking him on. And you’ve won the fucking lottery, old man.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Neil agreed.
“Will you now?” Ian jerked his thumb toward the bar. “You want to go have one?”
“I can’t. It was a figure of speech.” Neil put his hand on my knee. “I’m hanging it up.”
“Good idea.” Ian nodded sagely. “But your good ideas won’t get me drunk, so I’ll bid you adieu. I know you have a lot of friends, Sophie’s friends, specifically, who all look like fucking models…”
I scanned the room, seeking out one “friend” in particular. An employee, really.
“Thank you for coming, Ian.” Neil took his hand and shook it. “We’ll be back in two weeks. Maybe you’d like to come round for dinner?”
“Call my secretary when you get back, we’ll set something up,” he promised.
I watched him as he went off toward the bar. My heart did a little skip. Penny was headed to the dance floor—in a surprisingly sexy violet A-line dress with a plunging neckline. Like something out of a romantic comedy, their paths seemed destined to cross.
And they did, just as Ian saw someone he recognized and turned course, barely missing her.
Damn it.
I sighed and leaned my head on Neil’s shoulder. “I need to go mingle with my family. Why don’t you find your brothers and let them tease you about kidnapping me.”
Kidnapping the bride was apparently a custom out of Viking lore. Runólf and Geir had tried to convince me that it was an important Icelandic wedding tradition, but I’d Googled it on my phone and called them on their bullshit.
We snuck a quick kiss and split up for some family time.
As I approached, Grandma waved me over to the table. Marie had a three-quarters of an empty four pack of Bartles and James fuzzy navel on the table in front of her.
“Where did you get those?” I pointed to the bottles.
She swallowed the drink she’d just taken from wine cooler number four and said, “Chad went out and got these. They didn’t have Mike’s or Smirnoff Ice or anything at the bar.”
“We’ve got Boone’s Farm, too,” Grandma said, pulling a plastic shopping bag from beneath the table. “You want some?”
“Hell, yes, I want some. You got Snow Creek Berry?”
She handed me a bottle of the stuff—it looked like a pink version of Windex—and I unscrewed the top.
“So,” Grandma began, and I could tell she was unhappy with something. “What’s this about you’re not having a dollar dance?”
I nodded as I raised the bottle. “You heard correctly. We are not going to do a dollar dance.”
“Why not?” She spread her hands, the sleeves of her royal blue chiffon tunic nearly catching on her water glass. “People like dollar dances. They get to feel like they’re helping you get a good start on life.”
Grandma was missing the obvious. I took a deep swallow of the “wine”. “Grandma, Neil and I have almost seven billion dollars. We can afford a new coffee maker.”
“Well, I gave you fifty-dollars, anyway.” She rummaged through her purse for a card. “I didn’t put it in the box because it’s cash, and you never know with people.”
I stooped down and hugged her, and slipped the slender rectangular envelope into the band of my strapless bra. “Thanks, Grandma.”
Everyone partied for a while. I did a little drinking, but I cut myself off before I got super drunk—no one wants to see the bride vomit. I took selfies on the dance floor with Holli and Deja. I tried to act cool in front of my friends whenever a legitimately famous person drifted into view—Neil had tons of celebrity work friends we’d had to invite, despite barely knowing any of them. I’d been hoping Prince Harry would crash again, like he had at Neil’s fiftieth, but to Penny’s disappointment, his royal hotness did not appear.