Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I’m frozen to the floor when Damen pulls one of the chairs away from the table, and I only sit when he gives me a gentle nudge.
“I know, I should have introduced him first, but we eloped,” he says, calm as if his father was upset over getting the wrong filling in his sandwich.
“I said, get out!” the oldest Mr. Van der Horn shouts, shooting to his feet, but Damen pushes the chair against the backs of my legs, forcing me to sit down. I’ll need a drink, so I grab myself a glass of wine as soon as possible. Going by some of the frowns, they’re either upset I’m taking something in the first place, or that I’m not waiting for staff to fill my glass.
“No. This is now our home too, and we will stay. Was I not invited along with my partner?”
An older woman who sits opposite Mr. Van der Horn sighs. I’ve been briefed about all the people present at the mansion throughout the holidays, so it only takes me a second glance to recognize her as Damen’s mother, Juliana. Her red hair is in an elegant updo, and she scans me with piercing green eyes. She’s a bit younger than her husband, or addicted to plastic surgery. If it’s the latter, the work she had done is very discreet.
“You know that’s not what we meant, Damen…” she says with a pout.
The face of Damen’s father blooms with a reddish sheen. “Fine, I get your point Damen, you want a man, but you would not get married without my approval, so end this charade, and send this boy home before it’s too late”
I balk at the words, and drink from my glass in a way that shows off both my rings, but I let Damen handle this however he likes. I can be calm and composed. I don’t need to always yell and swear at people. This is fine.
Damen, who took the vacant place at my side, grabs a red-and-golden napkin arranged into a pyramid in the middle of his plate, and places it in his lap. I follow his lead as he speaks.
“Would you question the validity of my marriage if I brought a woman? Our relationship is very real, and we will stay, enjoying the same privileges all other members of this family enjoy.”
A sturdy man with a snow-white handlebar moustache clears his throat. He looks like a deluxe version of a stereotypical Texan, which makes me identify him as Damen’s uncle, Roger Van der Horn. He taps his fingers on the table and eyes his older brother. “You’ve lost control over your son. You know what this would mean. There is no divorce in this family,” he says and pins me to the seat with bright blue eyes.
I can’t drink fast enough.
“Shut the hell up,” Damen’s father hisses and glares at my man. “There’s rules we all follow. Without them, everything will fall apart. We should have been introduced before you brought him here. We should have blessed your union, yet here you are, spitting in our faces!”
“Exactly!” Titus pipes up. “We’re supposed to accept this abomination as fact? That this is our family now? You couldn’t even tell him about the dress code?”
I stiffen and glance at Damen. He was the one to buy everything I’m wearing, from the ripped jeans, to the new ring in my nose. I don’t have a problem with standing out, and he probably did approve of it all to piss off his parents, but I am a little confused. Maybe because I keep forgetting that despite us fucking, I’m just a fake husband. A stand-in for some man he chooses in the future when the dust settles after these explosive holidays. The Van der Horns might not believe in divorce, but we’re not actually wed.
Damen strokes my nape and gives me a reassuring smile. So handsome, so warm. But when he turns to his brother, it’s like seeing a different person. This is the man who abducted me from a New York alleyway to his private jet. “There is no dress code.”
His father glares at him. “It’s implied!”
Damen laughs. “Really? Because none of you had any issue with Aspen spending all of Christmas in a onesie last year.”
A woman I can't pinpoint as anyone Damen told me about hides a smile behind a napkin. She sits next to Uncle Roger, she's blonde, thin, polished, and almost like a younger, more approachable copy of Bree.
Juliana sighs and pokes the peas on her plate with the fork. “We did have his clothes photoshopped, so he at least looks half-decent in the pictures for the family album. Besides, I’m sure we can find some clothes to fit him,” she adds, casting brief glances at her husband, as if she were fishing for his reaction. Damen told me his parents hate each other and only meet on special family occasions, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s taking our side to piss off her spouse.