Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Bryan.” Weland’s hand shoots out and covers her brother’s.
She’s sitting the closest to him while their parents are on the other side. We’re kind of together, clustered around the other half of the circle, where the three of them could watch us as they listened to whatever we said. I’m closest to Weland’s mom, but she also looks like she’d enjoy tenderizing me with some kind of kitchen implement at the moment, despite her admonishing her son earlier for whatever he said.
“It’s true, Welly. We’re not letting him hurt you. This guy is straight up the worst kind of news.”
“I’m twenty-nine. I don’t need defending,” she whispers. “But thank you. This is my decision. I just wanted to come and tell you about it. I was skeptical, and I guess I did say I needed to hear what you thought, and above all, I needed to tell you all the truth. It was past time. But now that I’ve talked it all out, this is what I want. For better or for worse, we are legitimately married, and part of me wants to see if it will work.”
“And the other part is terrified because you know this guy is a jerk and a monster?”
“Oh lord.” Weland withdraws her hand, scowls at her brother—not really a real scowl—and turns to her dad. “I think it’s time for ice cream. Or coffee. Or coffee and ice cream together.”
“Caffeine and sugar won’t make him less of a total douche,” Bryan gripes.
“We don’t say douche in this house,” his mom reprimands him.
“Apparently, we do,” Bryan shoots back. “We do when it’s necessary!” He scowls at me like he’s four and just got soap in the mouth, while I did much worse and didn’t get punished at all. “It’s so necessary. This guy thinks he can just waltz into Welly’s life and suddenly make a forced fake marriage real? He’s a stranger. He doesn’t know one thing about her. He just shows up after lying to all of us for years and forcing her to do the same and then expects the world to drop at his feet as if that’s what is traditionally done because when you’re rich, you can afford to be a…fine. A total D-bag hole. Is that better?”
It’s not really a question, and his tirade keeps on tirading. “I don’t know if it’s an emotional breakdown or what’s even going on, but we’re here for you, Weland. We are. We’ll chase this rich pr…bast…entitled person right out of town if that’s what you want. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t fit in here. He has no right to get anywhere near you, seeing as he’s already taken more than enough from you.”
I’m not exactly stunned by this. I pretty much saw all this coming. Weland, though, appears surprised. Her lips are slightly parted, there is a soft rose petal blush on her cheeks, and she looks absolutely lovely. She brushes her hair back and swallows nervously. “Umm, first of all, I’m not having an emotional breakdown.”
“We know you aren’t, sweetheart.” Her mom gets up and walks around the table. Then, she fills the kettle in the small kitchen and slides it onto a stove that looks like it’s at least thirty years old but immaculately cared for. The house is a small bungalow, but everything looks that way. The pride of ownership is obvious. The flowers growing in the beds are beautiful and neatly tended, while the white fence around the side yard is straight and true and doesn’t have a flake of paint peeling. The inside is just as nice. Homey, if not very modern. The furnishings are all dated, but they look just like the day they were made.
“You think I am.” Weland’s eyes nearly pop right out, and her hands curl into a bunch on the tabletop. She grasps her knuckles until they turn white. “You’re making tea. You make hot chocolate when everyone is in a happy mood, or it’s freezing outside. Coffee goes with dessert, or early in the morning, or for anything social. Juice is also a happy drink, whether it’s the crystals kind or the real fruit stuff. Milk is either a late-night comforting beverage or strictly reserved for cereal or cooking. Water is always on offer, but tea? Tea is one of those things you only bust out when something or someone needs real comfort. Or serious fixing.”
“Good lord, what is that smell? Is there a gas leak in the house?” Fred jumps up and turns his head from side to side so wildly that it’s a wonder his neck doesn’t snap clean off.
It feels weird to think about Weland’s parents using their first names. I don’t feel like I’ve earned a first-name basis, even in my head. She might have introduced them when we got here, but it doesn’t give me permission to use their names.