Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
People cheered, clinked their glasses, and drank. I slanted my gaze to my sister and her husband. They both stared at me vacantly, pale and shell-shocked.
“I improvised.” I smiled sweetly at them. “You don’t mind now, do you?”
When the wedding was over, Ransom tucked me in one of the limos heading back to my parents’ mansion. He sat in the corner opposite from me. I raised the partition between us and the driver as soon as we slipped inside, turning to face him.
“You survived,” he observed, flicking cigar ash from the dash of his blazer.
“Trust me, I’m as shocked as you are.” I was so glad we were alone now. He was beginning to feel more and more like home.
“I’m not shocked. You never give yourself any credit.”
“Ransom?”
“That’s my name.”
“I’m going to Los Angeles tomorrow,” I stated, rather than asked, not leaving him much room to object.
He stared at me dispassionately, mulling this over. “Give me a few days.” This time he asked, not stated.
“No.” I erected my spine, taking a deep breath. “I gave you plenty of time. Los Angeles is not going to become safer in the next day or two. I find Texas triggering. I want to put some distance between myself and Hera and Craig. Surely, you can understand that.”
He did. I knew he did, because he rubbed his knuckles against his sharp jaw, hissing in frustration.
“L.A.’s a den of vipers,” he said quietly.
“To me, Texas is worse.”
“Don’t you have friends in New York?” he inquired. “Someone you could visit?”
I smiled, appreciating that he wasn’t fighting me on this. “I don’t have friends anywhere, remember?”
“That’s not true.” He pressed his lips into a hard line. “Now, you have at least one.”
My heart soared in my chest. We shared conspiratorial grins. This was my chance to talk to him about what had happened between us yesterday. About our night of passion. But there was something so perfect about this moment, the tranquility of it, I didn’t want to ruin it.
Tomorrow, I told myself. Today, you faced the wedding. One battle at a time.
“Proud of you, Princess Thorne.”
“What happened to Brat?” I quirked an eyebrow.
Ransom shook his head. “Hera snatched that title five minutes into our first encounter.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Thief.”
My parents’ Ford Escape Hybrid pulled onto the tarmac of the small, private airport next to their airplane. I shuddered at the thought of the carbon footprint, but this was Ransom’s ultimatum if I wanted to go back to Los Angeles.
He was adamant about not passing through LAX.
Mom got out of the passenger seat, rounding the car to hug me.
“Thanks for coming, Bunny. I know you prefer shorter visits, and I appreciate the time you’ve made for us.” She winced. Well, at least she didn’t chide me for that wedding speech. “You pulled through wonderfully.”
“Yes, Sugar Pie. We hope you’ll grace us again with your presence this Thanksgiving.” Dad joined us, as Ransom pulled our suitcases out of the trunk.
No chance in hell they were seeing my face before next year.
I smiled tightly, giving them each a swift hug before inching toward the stairway of the plane. “Thanks for the hospitality. We’ll…talk.”
Maybe.
On the plane, it was only Ransom, one flight attendant, the pilot, and me.
“Where’s Max?” I buckled my seatbelt as we got ready for takeoff.
“Already in L.A.”
“How come?”
“Put him on a paid leave.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t needed.”
“Sounds like code for wanting the coast clear,” I teased, smiling.
The flight attendant came to sit next to us, buckling in, too.
Ransom smiled warmly at me. “Get your ears checked, Princess.”
I decided not to press the subject. After all, we weren’t alone. Also, I didn’t necessarily want to know what Ransom thought about the night we’d shared at my parents’ house. A rejection would crush me. Not knowing where I stood was just as hard, but I prolonged the conversation as long as I could.
After takeoff, Ransom dedicated himself to working on his laptop. When he was done, he speared me with a glare. “Thought about what you want to do yet?”
“How do you mean?” I shifted in my seat, buying time.
Of course, I hadn’t thought about it. I was terrified of my limited options, especially now that I’d been diagnosed with dyslexia.
“For a living,” he clarified. “With your life.”
“Of course, I’ve thought about it.” I frantically searched my brain for something. I was unqualified for most jobs, so I went with an option that required very little reading and a lot of personality. “I’m thinking of becoming a medical clown.”
“A medical clown?” he repeated, blinking slowly.
“Yup.” I grabbed my sketchpad and some pencils. “What’s wrong with that? I’ll be helping people.”
“It’s random.”
“It’ll pay the bills.”
“You don’t give a shit about the bills.”
“And you don’t give a shit about me. You wanted me to get a job, you never said I needed to become a brain surgeon. Now back off and let me live my life,” I snapped.