Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Correct,” I say dryly, tucking myself in, “and that’s about five months too late. My bad. In my defense, I had a business to open.”
She shakes her head, laughing. Then she launches herself at me in a hug, peppering my face with kisses. I catch her waist, smirking.
“Is that a yes?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs to the light stubble along my jaw. “What would Cecilia say?”
“Hell yeah.”
ARYA
“I still don’t understand what this is for,” I sigh, sitting completely blindfolded in the passenger seat of my mother’s sedan. It’s not exactly the Bentley she was parading around Manhattan, complete with a personal driver, prior to her divorce, but she seems oddly content with the downgrade. She ditched the expensive blowouts and designer clothes for off-shoulder flowery maxi dresses and trendy sneakers.
She even has a new boyfriend, Max, who is not only super dashing but also a geeky high school geography teacher who treats her like a goddess and has vowed to take her to try every curry in New York City. They’re on their twentieth curry joint, last I checked.
“No one asked you to understand, darling. Just not to peek.” Mom pats my thigh, chuckling as moms do.
“We’ve been driving for forever. Are we even still in Manhattan?” I’m trying to get a ballpark estimation of what I’m working with. About thirty minutes ago, she picked me up from work and told me she had a surprise to show me. It didn’t faze her in the least when I told her I wanted to go bridesmaid dress shopping with Jilly. She dragged me into her car and ignored my plans.
Beatrice tsks. “Sorry. I’m under strict instructions not to give you any hints.”
“Instructions from who?” I demand.
She laughs at that.
“Christian?” I try. The fabric of the blindfold itches my nose, and I twitch it back and forth.
“Darling, not everything must revolve around your hunky fiancé.”
I rumble a weak response and sit back, folding my arms together. Mom talks my ear off about applying to a bunch of jobs around the Brooklyn area, now that she’s moved in with Max. How she knows it’s silly, but she wants to go back to school and maybe become a teacher. I tell her it’s not silly at all. How bettering our life, our circumstances, broadening our knowledge, should never be a source of shame. Before I know it, I feel my body sway as she pulls to the curb. We must’ve arrived at her secret destination.
“Keep the blindfold on while I make a call.” She uses her brand-new Mom tone. The one that warns me not to mess with her. I secretly love this tone. It makes up for all the years I didn’t have a mother. Her voice is sweet but businesslike as she talks to the person on the other end.
“Yes.” Pause. “She’s here.” Another beat. “No, not a thing. I kept her in the dark. Literally. But I’m double-parked, so you better come out here.”
A minute later, the passenger door opens, and I feel a pair of hands pulling me out gently. I don’t need to ask who it is. I know. The calluses of his fingers. The roughness of his big palms. It’s my future husband.
“Thanks, Bea, I’ll take good care of her,” Christian says.
“Bye, now,” Mom chirps, gunning her engine as she drives away.
“This better be good, Mr. Miller,” I warn as he ushers me somewhere, holding my hands. I trust him fully, but I don’t like not being in the know.
Christian chuckles but doesn’t answer. We make our way indoors out of the heat of the summer day through a revolving door. An avalanche of cool, air-conditioned air sweeps over my feet and hair. It gives me a sweet, achy feeling. Like I’ve felt it once before. My heels click over marble. My surroundings smell new. Flowery. Expensive. We’re in a building. Christian calls the elevator, and I wait beside him.
“How was your day at work?” he asks. He is making chitchat while I’m still blindfolded. Unbelievable.
“Fine,” I respond. “Yours?”
“Good.”
“Tell me, how many people are watching me right now blindfolded, being led by a handsome, tall man in a dashing suit?”
“About . . .” He counts under his breath. “Seventeen. And I’ll have you know I’m not wearing a suit but a tutu dress.”
“Dashing.”
“Sort of. I think it makes my knees look a little bloated.”
The elevator dings, and I think I recognize the sound but I can’t tell where from. We walk in. Christian holds my hand the entire time. I count the floors by the way the elevator pings each time we pass a level. We stop on the seventh floor. Christian walks out, ushering me with him, clasping my palm in both of his. Then he stops and drops my hand to enter a security number to open a door. He presses a hand against the small of my back, and we both walk in. Then he’s behind me, removing my blindfold.