Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “We’re getting married today no matter what happened earlier. I will give you what you asked for, but it will only stand for today. Is that clear?” He draws his own line in the sand.
I get it. Today, my father is going to get a pass for what he’s done but not again. With that, I give in and tell him everything about my father showing up and questioning me, not only about Hoover but about who this new man in my life is.
“You thought I would kill him over that? I’ll punish him, sure, but I won’t likely kill him.”
I lick my lips because I still haven't said it all. Avery may be singing that tune now, but I think it’s going to be a whole different one once he sees the marks on my arm.
“He grabbed my arm when I started to leave.” I pull up my sleeve to show him the marks. A deep rumble comes from Avery. “They’re not that bad. I’m sure he didn’t know how hard he grabbed me. I’m like a peach. I bruise easily.”
“No, you don’t. If anything, you’re resilient—or perhaps Hoover hits like the dead little bitch he is.” I reach up and touch my cheek. It has been a bit tender, but there hasn’t been a lasting mark.
“The ice pack must have really helped.”
“That’s the only one he gets, Goldie.” That should freak me out, but oddly I find it endearing. Avery always wants to stand up for me. Even against my father, who is a cop.
“So you’re not going to kill or physically harm him?” I double check.
“I will not physically harm him.” He reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh. Why do I get the feeling that Avery is choosing his words very precisely? In fact, I think everything Avery does is with perfect precision.
15
AVERY
Seething. That’s the only word to describe what’s going on inside my head right now. I don’t want to scare Marigold, and I made her a promise not to physically harm her father, but that doesn’t mean I don't want to. In fact, I’m itching to hunt him down and make him pay for the marks on her delicate skin.
“Whoa.” She peers around at all the vans and cars parked in front of the house.
Two men carry huge bunches of flowers on their shoulders and march through the front door. A woman fusses loudly at an assistant who’s balancing a cake tier in her hands.
“This is real.” Marigold puts her hands to her face and peeks through her fingers as we pull into the garage. “This is really real.”
“I know you’re excited.” I squeeze her thigh and cut the engine.
“Excited–yeah, that’s a word.” She turns to me. “You just met me, all right? I mean, I was going along with you on this whole marriage thing because you’re loaded and sweet and give me orgasms like I’ve never had before in my life …” She smiles a little, as if remembering the sensation.
“I’ll give you many more.” I open my door and get out, then go around to get hers.
“Wait.” She puts her palms on my chest. “This is nuts. Absolutely bonkers.”
“We’ve already agreed that I’m crazy, especially when it comes to you,” I remind her.
The door to the house opens, and Mr. Lou pops his head out. “The tailor wants to know if you’ve decided on the black tie or the white?”
I tilt Marigold’s chin up. “What do you think, Goldie?”
“Um, what color tux?”
“Black, of course.” I can feel her worry ebbing away as she thinks it over.
“Then I think a white tie would look really nice.”
“White it is, then.” Mr. Lou smiles and closes the door.
“See? This whole wedding business will be exceptionally easy.” I guide her up the stairs and into the hallway. There’s even more bustle in here, workers moving quickly as Mrs. Lou lectures the caterer on the correct way to slice prosciutto to go with the burrata.
“There you are!” Mrs. Lou waves the caterer away and hurries over to us. “Marigold, the seamstress is upstairs. We have a lovely selection to choose from, but she’s going to need to get to stitching to make whichever gown you choose fit perfectly.”
“Oh my God.” Marigold digs in her heels. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Mrs. Lou and I exchange a look.
“You can, Goldie.” I pull her through the busy kitchen and into the pantry, then close the door behind us.
“I’m just sort of freaking out.” She puts a hand to her cheek.
It’s dark and almost quiet in here, though the sound of chatter and pots and pans makes it through to us.
“Marigold.” I run a hand through her hair and pull her to me. “Everything’s going to be all right.”