Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Put this on,” Bri says, handing me a bag with an extremely expensive designer label on it.
“If you don’t like my outfit, just say that,” I joke.
“You look cute. You always do, but you need to be it’s my birthday hot.”
“To go home?” I laugh, shaking my head.
Then it hits me. “Wait, are we going somewhere?”
“Put it on!” She laughs.
“What about you guys?”
They’re not dressed any different from me.
“We’re getting changed too,” Dani says, lifting another bag with the same designer written across the side.
Using the salon’s changing room, I find a strapless black lace corset minidress and matching black Louboutin heels. It’s probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever owned, and as I put it on, I can’t help but feel like a fraud. I started making my own clothes because I wanted to look cute and my mom refused to buy me clothes. But can I possibly make items that are as beautiful and high quality as the piece I’m wearing?
I step out, and Bri claps her hands.
“You look stunning. Peyton and Dani are changing in the other bathroom. Once I change, we’ll get going.”
A few minutes later, she steps out, wearing the dress I made for her, and I gasp at how gorgeous she looks. The off-the-shoulder lace boho maxi dress glides over her curves, accentuating her beautiful bump.
Her husband, Kane, picked it up for her since she was running late, so she wasn’t able to try it on in front of me, and they’re waiting for the proof of their pictures to come back, so I didn’t get to see it on her, but it’s even more perfect on her than it looked on the mannequin.
“I figured a beautiful dress such as this shouldn’t only be worn once. And since it feels like I’m growing bigger by the day, soon, I won’t fit into it.” She pouts.
“Can I take a picture of you in it?” I ask sheepishly. “I’d love to add it to my portfolio …” I reach for my phone and then remember I don’t have one. “Oh shoot. I don’t have my phone.”
“I’ve got you.” She tosses me her phone and starts to pose. “Snap away.”
As I take picture after picture of her, it’s hard to believe I designed and made that dress. Maybe it’s not an expensive name brand like the one I’m wearing, but that designer had to start from somewhere as well, right?
Maybe I’m not Chanel or Hermès, but I’m Vanessa Baker, and I won’t stop until my name is spoken in the same fondness and reverence as theirs.
“What did you do?” I rasp when we walk into the condo an hour later—after a makeup artist showed up to do our makeup.
When we pulled into the private garage, I figured we were stopping here to pick up the guys to go to dinner. But I had no idea that Lorenzo would be hosting a dinner party for my birthday.
“Happy birthday, Wild Card,” Lorenzo murmurs, leaning in and giving me a chaste kiss, not caring that we’re in front of everyone. “You look … fuck.” He steps back and rakes his gaze over me. “You look delicious.”
“Delicious?” I bark out a laugh. “Are you planning to eat me?” I joke.
But the moment the words are out of my mouth and Lorenzo’s gaze turns molten, I know that’s exactly why he picked that word.
Later, he mouths. “Right now, we’re going to celebrate your birthday and the fact that for a short time, you’re only fourteen years younger than me.”
Speaking of which …
“When is your birthday?”
“I don’t have one,” he deadpans. “Once I turned thirty-five, I stopped having them.”
“December 20,” Dani says. “He’ll be thirty-seven.”
Lorenzo glares, and she shrugs, sticking her tongue out at him.
“It’s not my fault you’re practically an old man,” she quips.
“Hey!” Matteo hisses. “I’m the same age as him.”
Dani mouths, Old man, and Matteo pounces on her, tickling and kissing her.
“I’ll show you an old man.”
“Not here,” Lorenzo groans. “It’s bad enough I’ve walked in on you two several times. My home is my safe place. Now …” He takes my hand and guides me over to the long table that’s situated across the living room—the furniture having magically disappeared. “It’s time to celebrate your birthday.”
Everyone has a seat, and I look around at the elegant birthday decor hanging on the walls. It’s black and gold, and it looks more like a lavish party than my birthday dinner. But I love it.
On the table are beautiful bouquets of white and black anemones—the same flower he bought me when he took me out on our date—along with gold taper candles emitting a soft glow.
“I can’t believe you did all this,” I murmur, stunned by Lorenzo’s generosity.
The spa day was more than enough. But this … everyone coming together to celebrate me has me choking up with emotion.