Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“I have a big favor to ask,” I tell my mother as she sits at the corner of her desk. “Can I borrow the penthouse tonight?”
For my entire childhood, we would split our time between our house in Greenwich and our penthouse at the Heyward Plaza Hotel. My mom’s side of the family, the Heywards, built a real estate empire that made them billions, and the Heyward Plaza is one of its crown jewels. Although our villa in St. Barth’s isn’t anything to scoff at either.
“I feel like you’re a teenager again,” Mom says, narrowing her eyes. They’re the same shade of sea green as mine and Summer’s. My brother Nick is the only kid who inherited Dad’s brown ones. “You’re not planning a kegger, are you?”
“Nope. Nothing like that.”
“What’s the occasion then?”
Unable to contain my grin, I slide my hand in the pocket of my trousers. It emerges with the ring box, which I place on her cherry-stained desk without a single word.
Mom instantly understands. She releases a squeal of joy and suddenly she’s hugging me again.
“Oh my God! When are you going to do it? Tonight?” She claps her hands happily. My folks adore Allie, so I’m not surprised by her jubilant response.
“I was hoping. I know it’s weird to do it in the middle of the week, but Saturday is Allie’s wrap party for the show, and then Sunday my girls have a tournament in Albany, so I’m out of town. I didn’t want to wait until Sunday night, so.” I shrug. “I figured tonight’s the night. I know you’re at the penthouse this week, but I was wondering if you could clear out for a few hours while—”
“Say no more. I’ll drive back to Greenwich tonight.”
“You don’t have to leave the city,” I protest.
“I was going home on Friday anyway. A few days early won’t matter.” She claps her hands again. “Oh, your father is going to be so happy!”
“Nope. You’re not allowed to tell him until after I do it.”
Mom’s jaw drops. “You really expect me to keep that kind of secret from him?”
“You have no choice. Dad tells Summer everything, and Summer can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life.”
After a beat, Mom surrenders. “You’re right. Your sister sucks.”
I snort out a laugh.
“Fine. I won’t tell Dad.” She beams at me. “My lips will remain sealed until I receive a call saying my baby boy is engaged.”
I sigh. “Mom. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
That just makes her laugh.
19
Allie
Dean is wearing his favorite Tom Ford suit and that’s a problem.
Not because he doesn’t look good in it. He absolutely does. Dean is the hottest guy in existence, and I’m not saying that as his girlfriend. Like, objectively, I don’t think a better-looking man exists. And he looks good in anything. Swim trunks, sweats, khakis—he’s a walking catalogue model. But when this man puts on his designer suits, it’s dangerous.
As it is, I’m having a tough time controlling my libido at the sight of that wool and silk blend jacket stretching across his broad shoulders. The crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the top to reveal the strong column of his throat.
But the fact that he’s wearing his special occasion suit and had arranged for a romantic dinner at the penthouse tells me I’ve messed up. Big time.
What occasion am I missing, damn it?
It’s not my birthday. I don’t think it’s our anniversary either, although that date is trickier to pinpoint because we’ve got a few options. There’s the anniversary of when we hooked up for the first time, which I don’t count because we were both drunk. Granted, not drunk enough not to know what we were doing, but I can’t have alcohol tainting a special day.
Personally, I consider our anniversary to be the first time we had sober sex, which occurred a few weeks after the drunken night. Either way, neither of those dates were in the spring.
Maybe we’re celebrating the anniversary of when we got back together after I broke up with Dean that one time? Ugh. But I’m pretty sure that was in April. Today is May 5.
Wait. Cinco de Mayo maybe? Do we celebrate that now?
I feel like the worst girlfriend in the world.
“Are you going to speak?” Dean asks cheerfully.
Which is when I realize it’s been nearly four silent minutes of me lost in my thoughts, trying to figure out why we’re having dinner. I’m such an asshole.
“Sorry.” And then, because I’m always honest with him, I clasp my hands on the tablecloth and say, “I fucked up.”
Amusement flickers in his green eyes. “Okay… How so?”
“I don’t know why we’re here!” I wail.
He chuckles. “Like on Earth? The universe? Is this an existential thing, Allie-Cat?”
“No, I mean here at the penthouse. You called and said to meet you here and told me it’s a special occasion and I should dress up. And now I’m wearing this dress, and we’re sitting at this table, and I don’t know why. Is it for Cinco de Mayo?”