Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“How did you know where the money bag was?” I asked.
His amused gray-blue eyes caught mine. “Probably shouldn’t’ve written tip money in leather money bag hidden in bridal quarters at the bottom of my tote.”
Then he took another sip of his beer, but he was smiling around the mouth of his bottle.
Unbearable man.
“I didn’t want to forget where I put it,” I huffed, sitting to face forward again.
“Well, that’s a good way not to forget. Also a good way to tell anyone who might pick up that binder where thousands of dollars of cash are stashed.”
Ugh.
I said nothing. Though I did empty my half-full glass of champagne down my throat so I could start on the fresh one.
“Enlighten me,” he said. “That army of men in black suits with earpieces here for Imogen Swan or Hale Wheeler?”
He was talking about the heavy security Dad had ordered because yes, Imogen Swan (known to all of us as Genny) was ridiculously famous, so was her ex-husband, Tom Pierce, and to a lesser extent, her current husband, Duncan Holloway.
But Hale was not only a close friend of the family, he was a particularly close friend of mine.
Also, he was the richest man on the planet.
I couldn’t forget to note that Dad, Mum, Alex and me were all objects of media fascination. Dad because he was rich too. Mum because she was titled. Alex because she was their daughter and mixed up with the rest of this famous crew.
And me, mostly because people had filmed my altar scene with Chad, and it had gone viral.
Very viral.
Then again, in my earlier days, when I was walking a dark path, I’d sought the spotlight, and I hadn’t done it in ways I was proud of.
But boy, did that defunct wedding mess cure me of that.
So those men were not only the security Dad had hired, they’d worked with Hale’s and Genny’s people to maintain a perimeter so Alex and Rix could enjoy their day.
And I had planned this wedding with the strictest of secrecy.
I’d done this to the point guests were required to check their phones at a staffed phone check station, so no one would even know it was happening until Elsa (Hale’s wife, and a celebrity journalist, how’s that for ironic?) broke the story.
“Take your pick,” I answered Dair’s question.
“There a reason why Alex is faking it with sparkling apple cider?” he rumbled.
My head whipped his way again. “How did you know that?”
His lips were curved up when he looked at me. “Saw ye intervene three times when someone handed her one fully-loaded. Ye’d be a shite spy, hen.”
I moved closer to him and lowered my voice. “Do you think anyone noticed?”
“Erm…everyone?” he asked.
Oh my God.
“She doesn’t want anyone to know until she’s passed her first trimester,” I hissed. “Only Rix, Gal, Katie, Chloe and me know. And probably Judge, since Rix tells him everything, and if he didn’t, Chloe would.”
“Secret’s out. Now everyone knows she’s up the duff,” Dair drawled on one of his big grins.
I sat back and stared in a panic in front of me, seeing nothing.
“Oh my God, I gave it away,” I whined.
“Be soothed, lass,” he said quietly. “I’m fuckin’ with ye. Of a sort. The people who care enough to notice are the ones closest to her and they wouldn’t say a word until she was ready to share. The others haven’t noticed because they’re too busy drinking your dad’s booze and eating his food.”
“I hope so,” I mumbled.
He moved his hand so he was lightly stroking my neck from shoulder to the very sensitive spot behind my ear.
It felt phenomenal.
Lord.
I should move my head. I should make a statement. I should stop this weirdness that was happening between us.
I didn’t even like the man!
However, I didn’t do any of that.
It felt too good.
Dair helping me get through the reception felt too good.
God, I was being stupid.
I’d spent years being stupid.
I should stop this.
I didn’t.
The opening notes of Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” sounded.
Dair got up and set his beer aside. He didn’t even ask before he slid the flute from my fingers and placed it beside his beer.
He then took my hand, gently tugged me out of my chair and guided me to the dance floor.
Okay.
This was okay.
It wasn’t him stroking my neck, which did not say “childhood friends hanging at a wedding.”
You danced with anyone.
This was better than the neck stroking.
Definitely.
On the dance floor, Dair pulled me into his arms.
Close.
My hand in his, he laid them against his chest and started us moving.
I’d danced with a number of men that night. My dad (twice). Jamie. Duncan. Tom. Hale. Judge. Sully. Matt. Gage. Rix.
We did not dance like this.
I tipped my head back and whispered, “Dair.”
“Gorgeous in that dress, lassie,” he whispered back.
I’d gone dark green. One shoulder. Some gathering and a very short sleeve on that shoulder. An open slit that didn’t go too high and had two tailored pleats to make it more interesting. A same-colored waistband that made my waist look tiny.