Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“Page eight.”
She opened the cover and flipped through the glossy gossip. “They’re going to cover the wedding, Ray. Davenports are high-profile people.”
“I know. I just wish they would give us more input. There should be laws against publishing pictures of people without their permission. That doesn’t even look like me.”
“Yikes.” She found the photo that had me stressing. “Well, Hale looks great.”
“Of course, he looks great. That’s not the issue. I look like Sam the fucking hobbit.”
“Who?”
“Frodo’s friend. You know, the Goonie? He played Rudy? The guy the demi-dogs ate in Stranger Things.”
She blinked at me, confused.
“It’s irrelevant. I’m Hale’s chubby sidekick. Every single picture they take of me I look like I’m at the chew part of a sneeze.”
Elle laughed. “You’re always talking.”
“Yes, because Hale’s pretty, and I’m chatty. But they don’t write that. They just post these awful pictures and the world sits around wondering what the hell a man like that is doing with a woman like me.”
“No one is wondering that, Ray.”
“Of course they are. Why else would they print the same story over and over again? It’s just a matter of time before they haul out photos of all his anorexic exes and line us up in a comparison article that rips my self-esteem to shreds.”
Elle cocked her head and slid the other half of the cupcake back to me. “Here, I think you need this more than me.”
I ate it because big, ugly emotions should be consumed before they grow. “Did you know the Germans have a literal word for eating feelings,” I said over a mouth full of frosted cake. “Kummerspeck.” Crumbs sputtered past my lips. I took a sip of my iced macchiato and wiped my mouth. “It translates to grief bacon.”
She shook her head. “Where do you read this stuff?”
“I spend a lot of time in the bathroom.”
“This…” She took the magazine and held it like a rag. “Is trash. Stop reading it.”
“But what if they’re right? What if we’re too different to make this work?”
“Ray, you are making it work. Hale loves you. Elara loves you. Fuck everyone else.”
I let my arms flop onto the table and shook my head. “But what about the wedding? Hale has such a specific vision and I want to give it to him, but what if I can’t pull this off? I mean, even normal women would struggle with planning a wedding this size in that short of time, right?”
“Hey,” she snapped. “You’re Rayne Freaking Meyers. You can do anything you set your mind to.”
“You mean Calamity Rayne.”
She waved away my words. “You haven’t been a Calamity since you started working for Remington, Rayne. Look at where you are, what you’re doing with your life, where you’re living, and who you’re marrying. That stuff doesn’t come from screwing up.”
Okay, half of that was right. Yes, I worked for Hale’s dad, one of the wealthiest men in the world, and yes, I was marrying his son, another one-percenter. But getting a job for the Davenports was a total fluke. Remington had been on pain meds and probably not thinking clearly when he hired me. There were way more qualified people for the job. And Hale had been stranded on a yacht with us, coming off a terrible rebound, and angry with his father. He probably slept with me that first time just to piss off his dad.
“Knock it off,” Elle snapped again. “I can tell you’re mentally dismantling your success when you should be celebrating it. For once in your life, Ray, just be present and enjoy what you have.”
“I am present, but I’m also a realist.”
“You’re an over-thinker.”
“Yes, about real-life problems.”
She waved her fingers in a come hither motion. “All right then. Let’s hear it. Give me some of these real-life problems you’re stressing about.”
She wanted a peek into my head? Fine, I’d give her the keys to the crazy farm.
“Okay, for starters, I have no social graces. Hale’s attended galas since he was a kid and knows everything there is to know about etiquette. I’m completely awkward in normal social settings. Hell, I even speak louder at blind people no matter how much I know that doesn’t help them see me. I use the F-word too much and I never know where to put my hands. Forks confuse me. Hale’s an actual adult. My version of adulting is Googling stuff, and even then I don’t follow through. I cut corners. Do you know how many candles I bought for gifts and kept? The guilt is killing me! But my house smells like a majestic bakery, so am I really sorry? The other day I couldn’t find the dustpan, so I sneakily swept a pile of crumbs under the carpet. I swore I’d clean it up as soon as I found the dustpan. But I didn’t. It’s still there! And every time Hale walks over it I sweat a little. And let’s say we do postpone the wedding—”