Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Chapter Three
Amelia
“What the hell?” Cillian mutters as I make my way down the stairs. “You’re lucky Mom and Dad are gone.” He shakes his head in disapproval, but I’ve been thinking the same thing. Then again, I wouldn’t have tried to wear this if they’d been home. I’m actually worried Cillian is going to make me change. “You’re wearing a coat.”
“You don’t like my dress?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face. It's not that it’s too much, because a lot of girls dress this way. The difference is I’m never one of them. For too long, I’ve let myself believe that my body would only belong to my forever love. That it would be this special bond for us alone, but now things have changed. I’ve been naïve for far too long, and if my future husband is going to show himself off, why can’t I?
When I get to the bottom of the steps, I turn in place. I had the dress altered a bit to let it dip lower in the front, and then I had the straps removed as well. What Mom doesn’t know won’t kill her. Today at least.
I’m not sure if she’ll see pictures later and put together it's me, but most likely she'll be able to figure out which one I am even with the mask on. I should’ve gotten a whole new dress, but I love the way this one sways when I walk. The alterations might have been small, but they made a big difference for me. I don’t think I’ve ever shown a peek of cleavage in my life, and with this strapless push-up bra, everything is on display.
“Mom saw this dress?” Cillian is in a classic tux with his mask in hand.
Normally Cillian hates going to events, but I don’t think he put up a fight on this one for the very reason that he gets to wear a mask. It will hide the jagged scar that cuts through his eyebrow and goes down his cheek a couple inches. He was lucky that it barely missed his eye, but even now he’s self-conscious about it.
“She actually did see the dress.” Okay, so that’s not exactly a lie.
“Ames.” He gives me a look that says he knows me better than anyone.
“She did!” He stares at me for a long moment but doesn’t move to open the front door. I know we’re not going anywhere until I cough up the rest of the truth. “Okay, she saw it pre-alterations,” I huff, and I’m surprised when his lips twitch.
“This an act of rebellion?” He sounds almost proud.
“Can’t a girl have a night of fun?” I shrug my shoulders.
“All right.” He gives in and walks over to the coat closet then shuffles through several things before grabbing one for me.
“Look at that. You picked one that matches and everything. Me playing dress-up on you as kids worked. You’re welcome,” I tease.
“You’re chipper,” he responds as he helps me into the coat and finally opens the door for us to go. A blacked-out SUV sits waiting for us out front.
“I’m going to have a good time tonight,” I declare as I get into the vehicle. “Thank you, Henry,” I say to our driver before he closes the door for me.
“You’re welcome, Miss Flores.” Hearing Henry say my last name gives me a moment of pause. I won't be Miss Flores much longer. I shake the thought off, not wanting to go there. Not tonight at least.
“You should,” Cillian mutters when he gets in on the other side.
“So you’re cool with all this?” My brother might be a bit of a grump most of the time, but he respects our parents. This is the first time that I’ve ever really questioned something from them. I keep going over it in my mind and coming up blank.
“Mom and Dad got lucky.” His response is filled with skepticism. It wasn’t only Mom and Dad. Both our grandparents too.
“Are you not going to have an arranged marriage?” I’m a bit surprised he hasn’t already, honestly. Then again, Mom and Dad might be giving him more time. Cillian has never really been the same since the accident.
“One day. How else would I find a bride?” He turns his head my way, giving me a clean shot right at his scar, but I roll my eyes at him.
“You’re dramatic. Girls love scars. It's badass.”
“That's why do you and every other girl have a crush on Prince Felipe?” A rush of heat fills my face, and I turn my head to pretend to look out the window. I’m so cliché. Everyone does want Felipe; it’s all I’ve heard growing up.
“I don’t have a crush on him,” I sigh. I really don’t want to think about all those girls wanting him and how many have had a taste for themselves.