Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Ah, yes. I forgot. My apologies.”
“Sorry, my ass.”
“Your arse should be sorry. For making me stare at it.”
“Favorite color,” she demands suddenly.
“No one is going to ask you my favorite color. They’re more likely to ask you what I’m like in bed.”
“Oliver.”
“I had a nanny once who used to say my name like that.” Her expression softens. “Had being the operative word.”
She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. “Siblings?”
“One. A sister. Younger. And you?”
She gives her head a quick shake. “Stepsiblings. We don’t maintain contact.”
“Your parents are divorced?”
“My dad passed, and my mom has been divorced twice.” This she says without inflection but not without some hurt.
“Yet you believe in marriage?”
“If you’d met my parents, you’d know they aren’t exactly the role model types. But I’ve seen happiness, love, and fidelity. I know it’s out there. What about you?”
I sigh, indifferent to the whole concept. “I’m on the fence, which is probably odd for a man of my age.”
“See? I don’t even know how old you are.”
“I’m thirty-six.”
Her brows jump. “That pretty face must cost you a fortune in fillers.”
“I am a whole seven years older than you.” This I know thanks to her visa paperwork.
“Exactly. Old. But you were saying?”
“About marriage? I need to find the right woman first. I’m sure that’s how the convention goes.” But I’ve never seen love as the kind of risk I’d take a gamble on. “But you’ve been in love.”
“Because the day we met I was wearing a wedding dress?” She shakes her head. “Can’t love a ghost.”
I open my mouth, but Eve cuts me off.
“He didn’t love me, so please don’t say it. And I couldn’t have loved him, because how can you love a person who never existed?” She stares at her glass, and we both watch as she twirls the stem in her fingers. “I must be an optimist because I do believe in love, even if I haven’t found it yet.”
“What will it look like, do you think?” I swirl the amber liquid around the base of my own glass, almost worried to look at her. “When you finally see it.”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” She glances up, then away. “Love is . . . choosing that person always.” The stones in her ring catch the light as she gathers her hair in one hand, the spill of it like a sheet of red gold slipping over one shoulder. “I guess I need to see it to know it.” Her hand falls away and she glances at the glinting gems. “One thing’s for sure. It won’t be someone who buys me a ring as a photo opportunity.”
Chapter 31
EVIE
Oh, Lord. What am I getting myself into?
Well, Kensington Palace. The actual palace.
I guess if you’re going to be a fake fiancée, it might as well be in a royal residence.
If my mother could see me now, she’d be in raptures. Actually, if my mother was here, she’d probably be under arrest for trying to break into the part of the palace where the royal family lives. Any of them. She’s . . . something else, my mom. She’s not a social climber, but she is obsessed with status, good breeding, appearances, and all that hooey. That she can trace her family’s ancestry way back to America’s Founding Fathers is a point of pride to her. Get her near actual royalty, and God only knows what she’d be responsible for.
Maybe shouts of Marry my daughter! Somebody! Anybody royal will do!
We pass through a security checkpoint, Oliver’s driver following the path to the designated parking lot. Once we arrive, Oliver rounds the car while I sit like a woman of good breeding. In other words, one who’s forgotten what her hands are for.
“Thank you.” I place my hand in his as, knees together, I slide out of the car. Without letting go, Oliver lifts it seamlessly to the crook of his elbow.
“You hate that, don’t you?” Humor loiters in the quirk of his lips as we make our way to a marquee denoting the entrance.
“Being handed out of the car like a china doll?”
“I think it’s the waiting you object to over anything else.”
“I’ve got hands,” I murmur, biting back the offer to demonstrate. To throw hands.
“You’re always moving.” His eyes skate over me. “Even your face is rarely static.”
I scrunch my nose, then frown as I point to my face. “Are you trying to say I could regularly frighten small children with this?”
In answer, he gently knocks his shoulder with mine. “It’s endearing.”
You can’t trust a thing he says, I remind myself, ignoring the instant glow his words create. I might’ve allowed myself to forget for a moment or two back in the hotel bar, but he was quick to remind me of the man he is.
“I’ll tell you the truth. You just have to know the right questions to ask.”