Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I turn to the final page.
You are destined to be here.
But you're not the only one.
Remember that.
I close the book.
I should feel trapped. Horrified that there's no escape hatch, no way to undo this.
But the feeling that fills my chest isn't horror.
It's relief.
I don't have to feel guilty about my mom. I didn't abandon anyone because there's no one to abandon. My life is here. My whole life, transplanted, waiting for me.
And if I want to stay—
I can.
A shadow falls across the book.
On the small table beside me, there's a cup. Delicate porcelain. Tiny painted roses. Steam curling from the rim.
I know what this tea does.
Last time, I drank it because I was tired of being careful.
This time, I drink it because I choose to.
Because this is my life now. And I'm done fighting it.
The warmth spreads through me, golden and sweet. My eyes grow heavy.
I curl into the armchair.
And I sleep.
I WAKE UP IN MY OWN bed.
For a long, disoriented moment, I just lie there, staring at the silk canopy above me. The sheets are smooth beneath my fingers. My dress from last night has been replaced with a nightgown I don't remember putting on.
How did I get here?
Hewhay's magic. It has to be. The bookshop delivered me back while I slept, tucked me into bed, and disappeared.
My phone is on the nightstand. I reach for it—
And freeze.
There's a text from Heart.
So you're MARRYING THE MAFIA KING OF THE SOUTH??? Could have told me yourself instead of having your FIANCÉ'S LAWYER call the studio. Very classy, Bailey. Very professional. I had to find out from some man in a three-piece suit that my assistant is becoming royalty or whatever it is those people call themselves.
Don't expect a wedding gift. Do expect me to hold this over your head forever.
Also, congratulations I guess. He better be worth it.
I stare at the screen.
Devyn contacted Lauve Studio. Had his lawyer call Heart and explain that I wouldn't be coming back. Handled my job without asking me.
I don't know whether to be furious or grateful.
He didn't ask. He just decided. Classic Devyn.
But also—I didn't have to face Heart. I didn't have to lie or make excuses.
He did it for me.
I need to talk to him. About the job thing. About last night. About the almost-kiss that's been playing on repeat in my head.
I get dressed and step into the hallway.
The study is empty. The small dining room. The library.
No Devyn.
DAY TWO. STILL NO DEVYN.
By afternoon, I've worked myself into a state that I refuse to call anxiety.
Maybe he regrets last night. Maybe the almost-kiss made him realize this is a mistake.
Maybe there's someone else.
The thought appears out of nowhere, sharp and unwelcome. He said he doesn't share. But I'm not his yet. The wedding hasn't happened.
I find Mrs. Lyme arranging flowers in the east wing.
"Mrs. Lyme. I was wondering if you could tell me where...the king is?"
Her face softens. “He hasn’t told you.”
“About what?”
"The king left for New Jersey yesterday morning. There's been trouble at the border. A gang trying to move drugs into our territory."
"So...he’s working with the FBI—”
Mrs. Lyme looks at me oddly. “What is that?”
New World Information Unlocked: FBI does not exist here.
Noted and filed.
But in the meantime—
“Never mind that, I, um, got my wires crossed,” I say lamely. “So when you say he went to New Jersey—”
"The king always handles these matters personally,” Mrs. Lyme explains. “He doesn't ask his men to face dangers he won't face himself."
Dangers?
My alarm must have shown on my face, with Mrs. Lyme quickly reassuring me, “There is no need to be concerned. The King always comes back victorious. Three years ago, he took four bullets in a skirmish with the Boston faction. Finished the fight before he let the medics look at him."
Four...bullets?
"He always comes back, my lady. You can count on it."
I want to.
But...hasn’t she heard about there being a first time for everything?
I walk back to my room on legs that feel like they belong to someone else.
Devyn is in New Jersey. Fighting. With guns. And knives. And whatever else people use when they're trying to kill each other.
And tomorrow is our wedding day.
THE CLOCK ON MY NIGHTSTAND ticks past midnight. One. Two.
Every time I start to drift off, my brain conjures images I don't want to see. Devyn bleeding. Devyn surrounded. Devyn taking four bullets and not stopping.
Tomorrow I'm supposed to get married.
Tomorrow I'm supposed to walk down an aisle and stand beside a man I've known for less than a week and promise to be his.
If he comes back.
If he's still alive.
I stare at the ceiling.
I don't know when I started caring. I don't know when this shifted from terror to something else.
He almost kissed me. He said he doesn't share. He noticed my dimple and tracked who I showed it to like it mattered.