Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“One dance,” I say next to her ear. “Just to get you started. I promise it won’t be like the last one.”
Her heart kick-starts from a jog to a gallop, shooting a surging pulse through even the veins in her hand. It gives me a thrill on the inside, but externally, I ignore it.
“What do you say?” I add when she doesn’t answer.
With a nod and a swallow, she moves around me, her hand still in mine, and heads for the dance floor while her friends yell and cheer behind her. They’re locked into the good times of the party, so I’m not surprised that they haven’t seemed to notice whatever is going on between their bride and me. But I’m not going to be the one to tell them.
As far as I’m concerned, once she leaves here tonight, I’ll never come back to thinking about it again. Not only is she off-limits, but I’m not that kind of a guy. I don’t need one woman to occupy my thoughts—I’ve got several.
Right?
Saturday, February 24th
Sophie
Jude leads me to the dance floor, his arm cocked back to keep my clammy hand locked in the palm of his. Seeing him decked out in a suit is like a whole different attack on my nervous system, and it’s all I can do to force myself to swallow my saliva every few seconds rather than choking on it.
A slow beat pounds from the oversized speakers next to the DJ’s booth on the other side of the club, and every vibration hits me square between the legs. I’m swollen and sensitive—just as I’d be after actual sex, and nobody’s even touched me.
I swear, tomorrow, I’m going to have to see if anyone else remembers anything from tonight or if this is all just a freaking weird dream.
Jude spins without unlocking our hands when he finds a small hole in the crowd on the dance floor and pulls my body toward him with a jerk. I hit him on a hard stop, all his muscles feeling like the smooth surface of a large boulder beneath my hands. For as much as we’ve already been through together tonight, this is the first time I’ve touched his body with my palms.
My mind races to figure out if it’s wrong to be doing this—given that I’m not really the bride-to-be but am just pretending to be—but we’re swaying to the beat with his thigh between my own before I even come close to landing on a conclusion.
There’s no time to question, no time to wonder. It’s all I can do to keep up with the normal bodily functions required for survival.
“What do you think, Belle? Is this more like what you had in mind?”
For my bachelorette party? No. I’d say not. Ha.
I watch as his pulse thrums peacefully at the side of his tanned neck, and—
“Sophiieee! Helloooo?”
With muddy recognition of my name, I snap my head up on a jolt, and the bouquet in my hands jostles accordingly. Strobing lights I once saw with the vividity of reality fade away, and my sister’s sternly bridal face takes their place. I would have sworn on the dang Bible two seconds ago that I was still back in Club Craze, dancing with a freaking exotic dancer I had no business dancing with, given that he thought I was Belle and engaged to be married.
But no.
Strange as it seems, I’m apparently at my sister’s wedding, having a possible psychotic episode.
I gulp down a huge batch of air, trying to catch my thoughts and shove them back into the deep recesses of my brain so that there’s room for reality. Belle is getting married. Right now. Today. We’re moments away from the actual wedding, and I haven’t seen Jude, the Magic Dancer in a week. It’s time to get a grip.
Sheesh. I can’t wait to fill Dr. Winters in on this one.
“Geez, Soph. I’ve been calling your name for at least a minute. Are you having a stroke or something?”
I shake my head to clear it and then smile like the dutiful maid of honor I am. “I don’t think so.” Not that I know what one feels like. It’s entirely possible I am, I suppose. I’m definitely acting crazy enough.
“Good,” Belle huffs. “I mean, this is my day after all.”
I roll my eyes at my twin’s uncharacteristic dramatics. Lack of sympathy for a potential stroke victim is pretty callous, I’ll admit, but in my line of work, I’ve seen many a bride go temporarily insane on the big day. Why should it be any different for my twin just because we share DNA?
“Of course. I’ll delay my medical emergencies accordingly.”
Belle glares, and I bite my lip to silence a chuckle. The truth is, after the amount of time and physical labor my event planning company put into this wedding, I’d sweep my own body to the side and declare that the show must go on from the afterlife if I needed to.