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)
“Hey, don’t pretend like what you’re doing isn’t pragmatic.” She stubbed my chest with her finger. “You’re marrying someone because of your work. Couldn’t you look for another job?”
I could. And, frankly, I should. But I didn’t want to let Emmett win. Quitting would be an admission of defeat.
“Don’t give me any ideas, Poppins, or you’ll end up groomless.”
We hopped onto the train. It was packed. Only one seat was available. I motioned for Duffy to take it. She sat prissily with her back straight and her hands in her lap.
I towered over her, my arm slung over a pole. Speaking of Emmett, I needed to throw my engagement to Duffy into high gear. The fucker had been calling and texting me nonstop, trying to call my bluff. He didn’t believe Duffy was real. A little PR to boost this fake relationship was just what the doctor ordered.
The train started moving. I looked around. There was a nice mix of commuters. Students, millennial hipsters, tourists, and blue-collar workers. I was willing to bet my left nut that they all had working phones. It was time to execute my plan.
“Hey, Poppins.”
Her head was tilted down. She was engrossed in her phone, scrolling through secondhand designer bags in a fashion app.
“Duffy,” I said again.
“In a minute, Riggs. I think I found a quilted Chanel for two hundred bucks.”
In a minute, we might not have this kind of audience. With each station, the train was emptying out, and so was my patience.
“Duffy. Duff. Daphne. Desiree.”
“Jesus, what?” She looked up, her eyebrows dancing aggressively on her forehead, indicating her contempt. “Can’t you see I’m doing something?”
“And I’m hoping that someone is going to be me. For the rest of our lives, baby.” I shot her a tacky, heartthrob smirk I knew made her want to strangle me, then stomp on my lifeless body.
When I slowly lowered myself to one knee, bowing my head humbly, she opened her mouth—no doubt to give me a piece of her mind. The chatter on the train stopped. People unglued their gazes from their phones and tablets. Two girlfriends who sat opposite us gasped audibly, clutching each other’s shirts. And my soon-to-be fake fiancée stared at me with horror mixed with resignation.
She wasn’t a fan of public gestures.
I wasn’t a fan of losing. And Emmett wanted me to lose.
Duffy cupped her hands over her mouth, more to stifle a curse than in shock.
“Daphne, sweetheart, the love of my life, I can’t imagine growing old without you.”
You’re already old, I could hear her sass in my mind.
“You’re my reason, my inspiration, my person. Most importantly, you’re my one. From the moment I met you. It was unorthodox, and weird, and I definitely didn’t make the best first impression.” I offered her a dimpled smirk as people in our periphery held their phones up in the air and recorded my proposal from every angle possible. “But that just makes our kismet even more special. Our ability to love one another, flaws and all, for eternity and beyond.”
For the record, I pulled every word out of my ass on a whim. Of course, I’d googled Things to say when proposing while Poppins was buying me discounted socks, but I didn’t expect the lies to fall so naturally from between my lips.
“Oh my God!” a woman screeched behind my back.
“Dreamboat alert,” someone cooed. “Sign me up, Mr. Hottie.”
“Is that Chris Hemsworth?”
“No. Chris doesn’t have this bone structure and lips.”
“I think I just manifested a Greek god.”
I dipped my head, pretending to be embarrassed by the attention. Maybe I was laying it on too thick, but it wasn’t like I was shooting for an Oscar.
“Daphne, would you do me the immense honor of being my wife? I promise to love and respect you. To give you everything your heart desires. To put your happiness before mine, and to give you the fairy tale you deserve.”
Duffy’s face was blank and white with shock. She obviously welcomed my gesture just a little more than she would an intrusion of an entire army into her apartment.
And she still hadn’t said a damn word.
Through a tight, unwavering smile, I ground out, “Take your time, Poppins. It’s not like we have an audience.”
“Eh . . . of course I’ll marry you . . . uhm, darling,” she mumbled, finally, with all the enthusiasm of a woman who had been offered a trip through a minefield. Barefoot. “It would be my honor.”
The lukewarm acceptance didn’t stop people from darting up to their feet, clapping and cheering for us. Dozens of people bracketed Duffy’s seat as I produced the ring I’d purchased at a pawnshop and slipped it onto her engagement finger. It was a simple, thin golden band with a square emerald at the center. The guy at the pawnshop said it was at least two hundred years old, which happened to fit into the kind of marriage style my fiancée wanted for herself.