Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“Magazine #2: British Aristocracy Demands Lovesick Duke to Relinquish Title.”
“Magazine #3: Will Someone Stop That Wellesley Dude from Whining?”
Rathe smiled. “But don’t worry, little pearl. The Wellesleys have the last laugh in the end...” He took his iPad next, its browser already open in a pre-loaded website. “See here...these are the latest viewership ratings and we’re not just #1 in our timeslot. We’re also the #1 reality show in the world.”
Setting it aside, he took the last item on the bedside table. “And finally, we come to this.” Holding them up for the camera to zoom in on, he said, “This is what I’m being charged for the people I’ve asked to help me search for you. Of course I know I’m up against my mother, who’s done a bloody good job at keeping you hidden from me. I know Yanna and Saffi are aware of where you are, but I also know I won’t be able to get a thing out of them.”
Returning the receipts to the table, he said quietly, “I just wanted you to know that I haven’t stopped searching for you. I love you, Mary. I miss you. And so for the fourteenth time – will you marry me?”
Chapter Fifteen
Florida
“So...” Staffan Aehrenthal smirked. “Season 2, huh?”
The entire table coughed, everyone doing their best to muffle their laughter. Around them, those who had heard the rockstar’s crack was coughing as well, making Rathe discreetly give his friend a middle finger.
It was the official launch of the second season of his reality show, and it seemed as if all of Hollywood and England’s showbiz industry had come to attend the event. Every seat in the Aehrenthal Hotel’s vast ballroom was occupied, and organizers were doing their best to provide more seats in the cocktail area.
“I still think it’s too soon,” Rathe muttered.
“Look at it this way, my friend. The sooner and the more you film of this, the better chances you have of eventually making Mary discover what you’ve been doing.”
Rathe drawled blandly, “Making an arse of myself around the world, you mean?”
More coughs around the table, but they still sounded distinctly like laughter.
The ribbing continued, only ending when the stage curtains parted, revealing a giant white screen slowly being lowered.
“Ladies and gentlemen...”
A hush fell over the crowd at the voiceover.
“A preview of The Wellesleys, Season 2.”
As thunderous applause filled the ballroom, Constantijin bent close to ask under his breath, “I didn’t know you’ve already started shooting.”
“We didn’t.” He was just as confused as everyone was, and Rathe could only shrug in answer when he saw his parents looking at him in question from the other table. They were with the other parents of his friends, and even the newly reconciled Duke of Wellington was with them.
The preview started, and Rathe froze in his seat when he saw Mary. Her hair was simply combed back, and she was wearing a foam-green dress that had a tapered waist and huge skirt pockets.
The only clue to her whereabouts was...
White walls.
White walls.
And nothing else.
Did the network want to drive him crazy guessing where she was? Why the bloody hell had they chosen to have white walls as a background? Millions of places had white walls. Didn’t they know it could take him forever to figure out where that place was?
His attention refocused on the screen when he heard Mary clear her throat.
“H-hello. My name is Mary Ashton. I’m 19 years old and I was, for a time, the Duke of Flanders’ mistress. T-those days were the best and worst days of my life. They were g-good when he was with me, bad when he wasn’t.”
“The first time I got to watch The Wellesleys, I c-couldn’t believe Rathe was able to f-film such a thing. H-he has n-never watched a reality show when we were t-together. I a-also never imagined he could have b-been so open.”
A smile touched her lips. “I used to think Rathe could only show three kinds of expressions in public.”
“Three?” Staffan smirked. “Isn’t it just one?” He pointed to Rathe’s expressionless face as an example.
They heard Mary say, “Cool. Cold. Icy.”
Saffi burst into laughter, the only one to do so in the entire ballroom.
A second later, everyone else followed.
Mary continued, “He could be coolly bored, coldly amused, icily furious...”
More laughter, and Saffi did her best to avoid the duke’s murderous look.
Rathe did his best to glare everyone’s smirks away, but it was useless to do the same thing on his table, since his two closest friends were laughing their heads off while Yanna and Saffi had their backs turned on him. Unfortunately, the way their shoulders shook completely gave them away.
Only little Alexei wasn’t laughing, and the baby waved his tiny hand when he saw Rathe.
“Only chap in my corner,” Rathe muttered as he ruffled the baby’s head.
On the screen, Mary was talking again. “That’s basically the repertoire of emotions the duke shows in public but when I watched the show...I realized that he could show one other expression perfectly.”