Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Um, I think I can do that.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replies as he washes me gently, “but I can also.” He finishes washing me, bending and kissing me on the landing strip I have. “I’m assuming you didn’t order room service.”
“When would I have had the time to order room service?” I sit up, grabbing the sheet and covering myself with it. “Before or after I went on the internet to see if our wedding was real?”
He walks over to the closet and comes back out wearing a robe, and my brain screams out nooo while my eyes watch one of my favorite parts of him being covered. “I’ll order the food, then,” he says, reaching for the iPad and lying back down on the bed with me.
I can hear ringing coming from the living room, and I know it’s not his since I think he tossed his phone somewhere on the bed, and then I might have heard a clunk when he was stretched out eating my pussy. “That’s mine,” I say, tossing the covers off and rushing to the living room in search of the ringing. Rushing to the door where my purse was tossed to the side, I open it to see it’s not there. The ringing stops, and I stand, taking in the area, the strings of the balloons hanging all over the room. It smells like a flower shop with all the roses around the space. I’m about to go back when the ringing starts again, and this time, I follow it and find the phone right under Nash’s pants that came off after I gave him head beside our wedding cake.
I turn the phone over and see it’s my father, and I swear to everything I’m a sixteen-year-old girl again who just smashed their car into the garage by accident. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” My eyes just watch the phone. “Maybe he’ll hang up,” I wish out loud, but I know I have to answer him. Maybe he’s just calling to see how I am and if I’m ready for the vacation. “Hello,” I answer, trying to pretend as if I’m not keeping a huge secret. “Hey, Dad.” I put him on speakerphone and close my eyes.
“Please, for the love of God, Zoey.” His voice goes from low to high-pitched by the end of it, and I look up to see Nash coming out of the bedroom with the second robe in his hand. He walks over and holds it out so I can slip my hands into it. “Tell me you’re not married to Nash.”
“It was a mistake,” I say softly.
“It was a mistake.” His calm demeanor has left the building. I’m pretty sure it left the building the minute he found out what I did. “No, a mistake is I took the wrong flight. You getting married to someone is a lot more than a mistake.”
“Evan,” my mother says in the background, “would you—” He must look at her or glare at her because I don’t hear her anymore.
“We’re getting divorced.” I look at my phone and not at Nash, who chuckles and doesn’t miss a beat of this.
“We’re not getting divorced.” He doesn’t even pretend to whisper, nope, not him. He’s fully letting my father know that he’s in this conversation.
I glare up at him. “Can you not talk to me when I’m on the phone?” I ignore the way he grins as I close my eyes and walk back to the bedroom, sitting on the bed. “Dad, I swear I thought it was a joke.”
“Zoey.” His voice goes low. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” I admit, “I swear I thought it was a joke.” I inhale. “Who actually gets married in Vegas?”
“Um,” he sings, “your Aunt Allison and Uncle Max. It’s not like your Uncle Matthew doesn’t bring it up at least once a week.”
“Yes,” I say, “but that’s different. They knew they were getting married.”
“Did you not know you were getting married?” he asks, and I look at Nash, who is now standing in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest, his wedding band catching my eye.
“Well, I knew we were getting married,” I admit, “but I just thought it was fake because it was Elvis.” My voice goes loud. “And he wanted me to be in a hunka, hunka burning love.” I should stop talking at this moment, but I can’t. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“For what?” My father’s voice is softer now.
“Not my proudest moment,” I say. When I feel the tear about to leave my eye, I brush it away. I’ve never wanted him not to be proud of me.
“It’ll be a funny story when we look back on it.” He tries to make me feel better, and the knock on the door has Nash turning and walking back out of the room. “We’ll talk more when I see you.”