Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Has he said anything?” Calder asks.
“Not yet. But you know Dad. He’s planning something.” Levi’s eyes find mine, and there’s genuine concern there. “Just be careful, yeah? Both of you.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Levi jogs off toward the livestock pens, leaving us standing in the parking lot. Around us, families stream toward the entrance, normal people, living everyday lives, excited for a day at the rodeo. I used to be one of them. Used to be the preacher’s daughter, known for baking cookies for church functions and helping at the community center. Used to have a future that stretched before me like an open road. Now I’m Mrs. Calder Bishop. And my future ends at the edge of whatever plans his father has for me.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper.
“You can, and you will.” Calder starts walking, keeping me anchored to his side. “Your life and everyone you care about count on it.”
If that was supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. We pass through the entrance gates, and the rodeo grounds sprawl before us. The smell of fried food and livestock hangs heavy in the air. Carnival games line the walkways. The arena sits at the center of it all, already filling with spectators. And everywhere I look, people are staring at us.
The whispers follow us like a shadow. I only catch fragments—”preacher’s daughter”—”married a Bishop”—”saw it in the paper”—”can you believe”—yet each word is a small knife, cutting away at whatever dignity I have left.
Before I can process what he’s doing, his hand cups my face, and he leans down.
His lips brush mine, soft, almost gentle, nothing like the rough, claiming kisses from the cabin. This is the kind of kiss that makes people sigh and smile, the kind that says he’s so in love he can’t help himself. It’s all performance. All lie. But no, it’s not. Not after what he told me, how he made me feel in that cabin.
My body responds to his kiss regardless of the situation. My breath hitches. My heart pounds. For just a second, I forget where we are and why we’re here.
Then he pulls back, and reality returns.
“What was that?” I hiss, my face burning.
“That was selling it.” His voice is low, meant only for me. “All eyes were on us, and there wasn’t a better time than that moment for everyone to see us like that.”
“But did we have to do it so passionately, in public?”
He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone in a gesture that probably looks more tender than it really is. “We’re young. It’s supposed to be all about passion right now.”
We start walking again, his hand in mine. The crowd thickens as we walk deeper into the arena, and Calder steps into his role, playing the part of the attentive husband, pointing out attractions, keeping me close, and looking at me with an expression that might fool anyone who doesn’t know the truth.
That’s fine because I know the truth.
We pass a group of women clustered near the cotton candy stand. One of them has a newspaper tucked under her arm, the Black Hollow Creek Gazette. As we walk by, I catch a glimpse of the front page.
The wedding photo.
There it is, in black and white. Calder and I standing outside the courthouse, me in a white dress I never wore, smiling like I’m the happiest woman alive. The caption reads: “Local Couple Ties the Knot—Bishop and James Families Unite.”
I’m pretty sure I’m going to vomit. That photo is a fabrication, another tool used to make this believable. It’s also evidence that I chose this.
We find seats in the middle section of the covered grandstand, visible but not prominent. From here, I can see the VIP section above us, separated from the regular seating by a rope and elevation. At least it’s heated, so I’m not freezing my butt off.
I scan the raised area, and that’s when I spot him. Roman Bishop. He sits there like a king surveying his subjects. Even from this distance, he’s imposing. Broad-shouldered, wearing expensive western wear, a Stetson casting shadows across his face. He’s holding a beer, but his attention isn’t on the arena. It’s on us.
On me.
Our eyes meet across the distance, and ice floods my veins. This is the man who wanted me dead without even knowing me. And now he’s watching me sit beside his son, wearing a blue sundress, playing the role of a happy bride. I watch as Roman’s gaze shifts to Calder, cold and assessing. Then he deliberately turns his attention back to the arena.
The message is clear. I see you. I know. And we’re not done here.
“He looks angry,” I say quietly.
“He is angry.” Calder’s arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me closer. “But he won’t make a scene. Roman Bishop doesn’t punish people in public. He waits. Plans.” Calder’s voice is calm, but I can feel the tension in his body. “So the fact that we’re still sitting here means he’s at least willing to see how this plays out.”