Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“She wasn’t the person this entire deal hinges on.” He rubs his hands across his face, and for a second I feel sorry for him.
Yes, he’s a giant dick sometimes, but I can almost see the stress piled up on his shoulders.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out and touching his arm. “We’re old hats at this now. I’ve even met your brothers and didn’t die. It’ll be okay.”
“Who the hell else says old hats these days?” A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh my God, Dex. Be serious.”
He pats my hand affectionately, his palm warm and calloused. I wonder what he’s done to make it that way. Maybe it’s all that working out he does, his need to hit things.
Sigh.
And there I go, thinking about him exercising again, working his hard, corded body like a fine-tuned machine.
I need to stop thinking about him sweating, straining, groaning with exertion.
I definitely don’t need more of the image that’s been living rent-free in my head since Nana’s dinner.
“You’re right. We’ll survive. I wish I could say it’s the only worry.” He sighs. “My little brother left me with a family complication.”
“Patton?” I recall the brother he’s talking about—the bright-eyed one with the sharp smile and ruthless charm.
“The one and only,” he snarls.
“What did he do?”
“He told my mother about us.”
What the what?
I chew my lip as I watch about fifty emotions flick across his face. Every shade of frustration and resignation known to humankind surfaces.
God, he doesn’t want this any more than I do.
“Oh. Ouch. Um, so you mean there’s one more person we have to fool?” My stomach twists.
“I know,” he says, glancing up at me with a wry smile. “It’s what I deserve after getting your nana involved. Payback’s always a bitch, but fair’s fair.”
“I never said that.”
“No, but you’d be right if you did.” He heaves out another soul-grinding sigh. “The thing is, just like Jo, my mother will want to meet you. She’s insisting on it.”
That shouldn’t be so scary.
But for some reason, I’m instantly peppered with goosebumps.
Another date.
Another important family member to impress.
Another lie.
More people we have to deceive to keep this big ball of crazy going.
Even if we’re getting better at this, something’s got to give.
You can only stack up lies high enough before the whole tower comes crashing down, and if it lands us in a world of hurt, what then?
“There’s something else I had to bring in person,” he says slowly, watching me warily. “For your trouble.”
What’s he talking about?
His hand drifts out of his pocket, clasping a small grey box with gold lettering.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
When he opens it, revealing what I’m dreading, I don’t remember how to breathe.
A freaking ring.
And not just any ring.
No, this is a ring from Dexter Rory, a man who never learned how to do anything without going all out.
Of course, it’s gorgeous enough to make me stupid.
All diamond-studded white gold with a sparkling blue stone in the middle. The whole vibe is both delicate and totally over the top.
I’m already in love with the wretched thing.
And I hate that I love it.
“There’s no sense in being subtle anymore. Counting my brothers, a shit ton of people know we’re engaged,” he explains. “No one will believe I’ve proposed without a ring on your finger.”
“Oh my God.” I’m hyperventilating. “You just… you went and… you bought me an engagement ring?” I say faintly, knowing full well there’s no doubt.
An engagement ring.
Those three little words feel completely alien.
His face blanks, but he’s smiling with his eyes, midnight-blue apologies sparkling like stars.
“Forrest Haute’s one thing, but my mother’s another. I’m sorry if it’s not your style, Junie. There’s still time to swap it out.”
“Are you insane?”
I could have searched the world twice over and not found an engagement ring half this magnificent. This man, who doesn’t even know me, is some sort of psychic jewelry genius.
“It’s really pretty,” I whisper.
“It’s yours to keep when this is over. Don’t even fucking ask how much it costs,” he says. “Sell it, keep it, give it to your cat, whatever. I’m sure this isn’t the type of engagement you ever wanted—and technically, it’s not. I’m just goddamned grateful you’re willing to go along with it.”
Technically, it’s not.
Why does he sound like he’s trying to make himself believe it?
My brain sputters.
All I can see right now is that ring in its little grey box, the blue velvet inside cushioning the precious diamonds and stillborn promises.
I don’t doubt for a second they’re real, and they’re spectacular.
Oh, and its resale value will probably break my jaw when it hits the ground. He’s paying me a massive premium in jewelry on top of the six figures hitting my account.
The bigger the lie, the more I earn.
That should thrill me, coming into a small fortune I never imagined, but it doesn’t.