Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Hey, Mom, didn’t see you there. Like the tree?”
“It’s perfect,” she says. “Trudy brought breakfast.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not hungry.”
My mother moves closer, whispering, “Graham, it’s bad manners to not acknowledge her effort.”
“It’s actually kind of bad manners to have her here with my fiancée.”
My mother stops short, because she knows I’m right.
“It’s ok,” Zoe says, placing her hand on my arm, attempting to defuse the situation. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”
Her eyes plead with me to agree, so I do. Ten minutes later, I wish I hadn’t. Trudy brought the cavalry of breakfast. Catered eggs, French toast, bacon, sausage, and anything else you could want fill the chafing dishes in the dining room. Blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes are on display complete with flavored syrups. I’m expecting a damn omelet station, but to my surprise there isn’t one. Trudy explains this is supposed to be an ‘intimate’ breakfast.
Intimate, yeah, sure.
The crystal chandelier in the dining room twinkles over the linen draped table as the clatter and clang of the cutlery surrounds us. I’m not even sitting near Zoe, which kind of pisses me off. I’m wedged between York and Trudy. It’s as if everyone is working against us in their rush to the buffet style set up along the wall.
“How’s resort living?” York asks, shoveling eggs into his mouth.
“I’m sure he loves being away from everyone, hiding up there in the mountains,” Trudy says, holding her glass of breakfast sangria close to her lips. “You’ve always been a bit antisocial.”
“Actually, York,” I stress, “it’s going great. I’m just about to add Zoe’s soaps in each cabin.” I give a little wink to Zoe from across the table.
“Soap?” Trudy says as if I said shit.
“Zoe makes soaps,” Lindsey offers, when I don’t make any effort to answer.
“That can’t be cost effective.” Trudy lowers her glass, her eyes narrowing on me. “How much are you probably paying for soaps now? Probably like three cents a bar.” Trudy won’t let up.
“Something like that.”
Trudy’s blue eyes glance over at Zoe, and we have the attention of the whole table now. “I’m sure Zoe can’t beat that cost, and even if she did she’d lose out.”
And listen, Trudy is one hundred fucking percent correct—I’m taking a loss by bringing on Zoe’s soaps.
“It’s fine,” I say, my voice low and deep, demanding not to be questioned.
Because that resort is my resort. And if I want to pay extra for soaps, then I fucking will. It’s not going to make or break me. And there’s not a damn thing anyone can say about it.
Zoe’s face falls flat, and I try to telepathically tell her everything is ok.
“Zoe,” Trudy turns her attention onto her, “you understand that’s not cost effective, right? You understand business?”
I don’t give a fuck if Trudy questions me all night about my business practices, but don’t fuck with Zoe. Leave her alone.
“Trudy, drop it already. I didn’t come all the way here to talk business over the holiday. I’m here to spend time with my family, which, by the way, you aren’t a part of.”
“It’s ok,” Zoe says, focusing her gaze on Trudy. “I’m sure you understand you could’ve gotten this breakfast at a much cheaper price at the grocery store, but you wanted something premium as a luxury for the people enjoying it. Even though it’s not cost effective.”
York smirks beside me at Zoe’s damn good response. I push back my chair and head over to the spot where Lindsey sits next to Zoe. “Can I sit by my fiancée?”
Lindsey gets up without saying a word. I slide into the seat, and take Zoe’s tiny hand into mine and bring it to my lips and give it a kiss.
“I agree with Graham,” my mother says, “we’re not here to talk about work.” She turns her attention onto Lindsey and asks her a question about the girls, effectively ending the discussion.
And then the whole table comes alive with easy conversation, and I know one thing is for sure, Trudy does not look happy. And that makes me very happy.
The next day, I’m not so happy. After Trudy’s little breakfast debacle, Zoe seemed to be avoiding me the rest of the day. And night. I knocked on her door, only to get a crack with her eye peeking out telling me she was fine, just needed to rest up for her entertainment extravaganza today.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” York says, patting me on the shoulder.
“What day is that?”
“The day you’d become pussy-whipped over some chick.”
“Ok, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not pussy-anything. She’s my fiancée.”
“So, you’ve told us. I don’t care how much I love someone, I wouldn’t wear an ugly Christmas sweater for anyone,” he says as we watch my mother, sister, nieces, and fake fiancée all drive away to shop for Zoe’s entertainment day—an ugly sweater party.