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)
“Right. Yes. No, I’m completely sober.” But I am going to rectify the situation as soon as I return to my flat.
“Drive safe and straight home.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. There was a half-empty bottle of a cheap tequila with my name on it.
When I came back to the flat, I found my future husband’s head stuck in a sink full of water and ice. I should specify that the head was completely attached to the rest of his body. Which made the scene a lot less gory than it could have been, but still quite odd.
“Please tell me it’s not a cult ritual of sorts,” I mumbled, trudging inside. He jerked his head back and shook the water off like a dog. “Fuck.”
His face was the shade of an ice cube. And still, he was infuriatingly handsome.
“Christ, Riggs!” Without thinking, I hurried to the bathroom, grabbed my robe, and returned to wrap it around his head. He may have been morally corrupt, but he was still my ticket to a green card. I needed him alive. “What were you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you’re cutting off my oxygen supply, wrapping this thing around me. How’d it go?” He shook the robe off, allowing me to lead him to the settee, where I threw a duvet across his massive body.
“Brilliant. A smashing success.” I sat next to him, tucking the duvet behind his back on both sides, like he was a human burrito. “Why was your head in ice water? You could’ve gotten hypothermia.”
He leaned back, screwing his fingers into his eye sockets. “Headache.”
“And your first reaction wasn’t to reach for the Tylenol, but to my freezer?”
“It’s a trick a Greek physician taught me.” He peeled the duvet off him. The imprint of his abs was visible through his henley. “I get them often. Migraines.”
“Well, an English newswoman recommends some ibuprofen.” I stood up and went to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. “My special recipe is three pills.”
I handed everything to him. He raised the pills in the air in a salute motion before knocking them back. “Compliments to the chef.”
“Stay hydrated,” I urged him.
“Yes, Mom.”
He’d been saying that a lot. The Mum thing. This was my cue to go to my bedroom and cry into my pillow, hugging the tequila bottle I’d been fantasizing about the entire journey back, but I decided to stand in my living room instead. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now. And surely, he’d ask me about Brendan.
Riggs didn’t disappoint.
“So now that Cocksucker’s gone, are you guys over?”
“His name is BJ,” I said icily, as if the question itself was invasive and prodding. “And as I said, we’re just on a break.”
“A very long break.”
“Time is relative.”
“Relatives are time-suckers,” he fired back.
“Suckers can sometimes be relatives,” I managed, playing his stupid word game.
“But sucking relatives is a big, fat no-no.” Riggs grinned.
“All right, you win, I cannot possibly top that.”
We both stared at each other before exploding into hysterical laughter. To be fair, I was quite sure I was laughing from exhaustion, overwhelmed by my impending marriage and runaway boyfriend and complicated employment situation.
“Is Nepal nice?” I asked on a sigh. “Do you think he’ll have a good time there?” I wanted the answer to be no. For Riggs to tell me Nepal would be awful and BJ would run back home before his jet lag was over.
“Nepal is stunning.” Riggs had the good manners to smile ruefully at me. “Fascinating culture, great food, rich history, and the views are some of the best I’ve seen.”
He must’ve noticed my crestfallen face, because he added, “And I don’t think Cocksucker can appreciate any of those things, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He is going to hate the lack of Starbucks.”
I barked out a laugh. “He did say his favorite city is Vegas.”
Riggs gagged. “Vegas isn’t even a city. It’s a never-ending main street full of drunks and people looking to make a buck.”
We stayed like this for ten more minutes, talking about Vegas, and cities, and holiday destinations, until I felt better. Like I could handle being alone in my room.
“Good night, then,” I said finally.
Riggs smiled. He always smiled. “Night, Poppins.”
CHAPTER NINE
RIGGS
Two days after Cocksucker fled the country, my future wife informed me that she’d booked us an appointment with a family lawyer.
“What do we need a family lawyer for?” I asked, cleaning my photography equipment on her coffee table. I used a rocket blower to remove dust from the lens. “We’re not even married yet. Even I think getting a divorce is a little premature.”
She was running like a headless chicken around the apartment, scrubbing every surface five times.
“To sign our prenuptial agreement, of course.” Duffy smiled apologetically, her cheeks turning pink. “Please don’t take this to heart, and I say that with no prejudice at all, but I assume you and I aren’t in the same financial situation.”