Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“You must be Blue,” she says, coming to give me a hug.
An actual hug.
I’m so taken aback, it takes me a moment to hug her back. The St. James family are not huggers.
“I’m Isabelle,” she says, pulling back, but keeping hold of my hands.
“My wife,” Jericho says, his voice dark as he wraps his hand around the back of her neck. Is that a St. James thing?
Isabelle glances at him. “I think she probably got that, Captain Obvious.”
He narrows his gaze at her, tugs her close. The action is, in a word, tender, and I can see the affection between them. He whispers something into her ear that makes her blush.
She clears her throat and blinks several times.
From the satisfied grin on Jericho’s face, he got the last word on that one.
Zeke leans toward him and says something I don’t hear.
“How are you doing over there at the house?” Isabelle asks after clearing her throat.
“Okay, I guess.” Does she know exactly how I came to be at the house?
She looks over her shoulder at Zeke. “He’s not so bad,” she whispers. “More bark than bite.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I say. “He has plenty of bite.” My face burns as I realize how literal that is even though that wasn’t my intent.
Isabelle doesn’t seem to catch on, though. “He should come to the house. Angelique would love to see her uncle. She adores him. I don’t see why all this secrecy—”
“Isabelle,” Zeke interrupts. He smiles down at her, kisses her cheek. “You look lovely, as usual. I understand congratulations are in order.”
She glances at her husband, flushes and sets a hand on her stomach. “Thank you. We’re excited.”
Oh. She’s pregnant.
A waiter comes carrying crystal flutes of champagne. I take one. Zeke doesn’t.
“One of those sparkling water?” Jericho asks.
“Yes, sir,” the waiter says and turns the tray slightly. Jericho takes the glass and hands it to Isabelle but doesn’t take a drink himself.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” a woman’s voice carries across the courtyard. The waiter disappears into the crowd.
Zeke groans beside me.
“Christ,” Jericho mutters under his breath.
Isabelle giggles.
“Is that you, Ezekiel St. James?”
We all turn to find three women, I’d say all in their mid, maybe late-twenties, approach. They’re decked out in designer everything, all swaying hips and boobs and heels too high for anyone to be able to do anything but sit and look pretty. And pretty they are, beautiful, without a doubt. Their leader, the tallest of the trio, pours herself against Zeke and kisses his cheeks three times.
Are we in fucking Europe?
I’m tempted to grab his arm or something but manage to keep my hands at my sides. I remind myself that he’s not my boyfriend. This isn’t a date. Instead, I watch, and I’m sure my expression shows exactly what I’m thinking which is WTF?
“Vivien,” Zeke says, not even attempting to pretend to smile.
“How long have you been away?” she asks, pulling back but holding onto his arms, her claws curled around his biceps. Is she feeling him up? I’m the one he just ate out, I remind myself but then wonder why the fuck I am jealous. “You know I tried to look you up when I was traveling through Amsterdam. Figured I’d stop to see an old friend on my way to the French Riviera, but you never returned my calls!”
“Didn’t I?” Zeke asks, bored.
The women who flank Vivien glance at me then at their leader. “Viv, looks like Ezekiel brought a friend,” one says.
All three turn their attention to me. These women are not friends. Or I guess they’re what you’d call frenemies? I don’t know, this is not my world. The ice in their eyes as they take me in, looking down their noses at me, lets me know exactly what they think of me. I usually don’t mind my height, but this is when I wish I were taller so at least I wouldn’t have to look up at them.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Vivien says, turning her gaze to Ezekiel, her smile wide, all bright, shiny, too-perfect veneers.
“No,” Zeke says, and I can’t help my snort and apparently, Isabelle can’t either and she turns away, pretending to clear her throat.
The women glance at Isabelle, giving her pretty much the same hateful glance as they did me.
A gong chimes and I jump.
“Excuse us,” Zeke says. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck exactly like his brother had a moment ago with his wife and we turn to follow Jericho and Isabelle into the procession heading to the double French doors.
“I think she likes you,” I whisper to Zeke.
He squeezes my neck. “She’s a viper.”
“She’s pretty.”
“If you like snakes.”
“Her boobs alone—”
“Careful. I might think you’re jealous,” he says, giving me a dark glance he replaces quickly with a generic smile to someone who greets him.