Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“What does BJ think about all this?” Kieran seemed somewhere between entertained and puzzled. If I was a go-getter, he was a stay-sitter. My antics always amused him.
“BJ and I are on a break,” I informed my brother, proud that my voice didn’t crack. “He’s going to Kathmandu to volunteer at a monastery.”
Kieran’s eyes were so wide and so big they looked like the mouth of a laundry machine. “Someone had an interesting forty-eight hours.”
That, I did. Saturday couldn’t roll soon enough. I needed to bury my face in my pillow and cry into Monday morning without interruption.
“Do you think Mum and Tim are going to kill me?” Tim was Mum’s husband. Actually, he was much more than that. He was like a father to me.
“Kill?” Kieran brushed his knuckles over his stubble, giving it some thought. “Seems a bit drastic. But maybe, you know, take you out of their will or something.”
“Well, don’t tell them!”
“My lips are sealed.” He pretended to zip his mouth, then threw away the imaginary key behind his shoulder. “When are you going to tell them?”
“I’m thinking . . . never?” I winced. “It’s not like the marriage is real. I could bide my time until I get my green card and pretend this never happened.”
“Dunno. Marriage is noticeable, innit?” Kieran poked his lower lip out. “Sort of like plastic surgery. Or death.”
“Not this one.” I pushed the entrance door open, starting for my flat. “This marriage will be like a tampon.”
“Bloody and uncomfortable?”
I screwed my nose. “No one will ever know.”
“Bad example. I always knew when you had your period,” Kieran mused gamely. “You went mental and became the Antichrist, and no Cadbury chocolate bar was safe under our roof.”
“You’ll see.” I ignored him. “It’s going to be a piece of cake.”
It was not, in fact, a piece of cake. Though there might have been a cake involved.
There was an actual party in my flat.
A smelly one. All sorts of odors hit me when I pushed the door open. None of them the signature Jo Malone London candle I’d shelled out a hundred bucks on.
There were also two women queueing for my loo (just who was occupying it?), two suited men on my settee, a dog on my recliner (not even a tiny one from an expensive breed; I’m talking a proper, seventy-pound beast that also looked quite old and blind), and a half-eaten pizza spread across my coffee table and counter.
I dumped my Chanel bag onto the floor, the chain clinking softly at my feet.
A toddler burst out of my loo, naked from the waist down and holding a toy dragon.
“I did it, Daddy! I did a big poo in the real potty all by myself!”
“Actually, some of the floor and wall got hit too,” confirmed one of the women, who hastily slipped into my bathroom with wet wipes. “I’ll go clean it up.”
Her golden-haired friend ran after the toddler, calling out, “Hey, Louie, come here. No, no. You definitely can’t sit on the couch before I clean you up.”
I was going to have three consecutive heart attacks followed by a mental breakdown.
“Louie!” Riggs scooped the child midrun like he was a puppy, tossing him in the air. He barely missed the ceiling. “The potty, the wall, and the floor? That’s talent, my friend. Let’s celebrate with a treat. Ice cream?”
“Digno wants cookies!” Louie erected his little fisted toy in the air, almost taking one of Riggs’s eyes out with his dragon.
“How about that? I’ll stock this fridge up with all of your favorite junk food from now on.”
“Hey, Riggs, can you make some popcorn?” one of the men asked. “I want something to munch on when your future wife sees all this. And this time try not to set the whole kitchen on fire. Doubt she has insurance on this place.”
I didn’t have any insurance. And this wasn’t a dumpster. Panic and rage simmered in my veins, making my blood boil.
Since no one acknowledged my existence—or noticed it, for that matter—I took a step deeper into the living room and crossed my arms. The stench intensified from unpleasant to dumpster fire. Were they boiling skunks in here? What was that smell?
“Oops!” The blonde woman snatched little Louie from Riggs’s arms. “Honey, can you take Brisket out for a walk and see if she needs to go? I think she farted again. Poor thing.” She stopped to pet the dog on my vintage recliner on her way to the bathroom. “It’s not easy being seventeen, now, is it, girl?”
“It’s also not easy to be married to a woman who always adopts the oldest, sickest dog in the shelter.” A dark-haired man stood up and expertly secured a harness over the canine. He was the sort of man who dripped wealth just by existing. Something about his unrelenting confidence and ruthless poise. He kissed the blonde’s forehead gently on his way out.