Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Amelia’s eyes go round with shock, and she sets her coffee cup down hard enough that some sloshes over her fingers. “Wait a minute. You just got engaged like five minutes ago and now you’re getting married next week? What’s the rush?” She gasps before covering her mouth, making a big dramatic show out of it as she leans forward and whispers, “Are you pregnant?”
“What? No, Amelia, I am not pregnant.” At least I don’t think I am. Shit, note to self, check my calendar after today.
“Then what’s the rush?”
Good question. “Why not? When you know, you know. Right?”
“Sure,” she nods slowly, her gaze assessing like she does when she’s in therapist mode. “And this feels right to you?”
“Of course.” My brows dip and I drop back against the chair with a sigh. “But it doesn’t feel right to you?”
She holds up her hands in a defensive gesture. “It doesn’t have to feel right to me, Frankie. I’m not the one getting married.”
“Okay, fine. Yes, it’s fast, but I’m okay with that. Tell me why I shouldn’t be?”
“Seriously?”
I nod. “Yes. Maybe there’s something I’m not considering, so shrink me and let me consider.”
“Okay fine.” She sits up tall with her shoulders squared and her gaze on my face, watching me. Studying me. “It seems rather controlling to rush a wedding when it’s clear you want a big wedding that takes time to plan. And is he really going to plan this wedding on his own?”
I shake my head. “His assistant Jess is doing most of the planning, so it’ll be big-ish I expect but the guest list will be small and intimate. This isn’t a big celebrity event.” But she’s right, it won’t be the wedding I want, not completely.
“See? Controlling. His assistant, the woman who works for him and who is definitely going to do what he wants, is planning your wedding. Tell me why that’s okay.”
“It’s kind of nice to have a man who’s so excited to marry me he’s willing to pay an obscene amount of money to do it as quickly as possible. That’s sweet, incredibly sweet. It’s romantic.” That’s how I see it, anyway. I take a sip of my now cool coffee and wait for her professional assessment while my heart gallops in my chest. “Well?”
“Well,” she repeats softly. “That is certainly a different way of looking at it. Although I think you’ve been hypnotized by the billionaire. But I trust your judgment, Frankie.”
I don’t know why her words fill me with relief, but they do. “You do?”
“Hell yeah. If you were anyone else, I’d be staging an intervention right now, but you’re you and I’m not. Does this mean you dragged me out of bed to go dress shopping?”
I nod slowly and my smile grows bigger by the second. “I did. I need a wedding dress, and you need a maid of honor dress.” Telling is better than asking in these situations, right?
If possible, her eyes get even rounder and bigger. “Me? You want me to be your maid of honor?”
“Of course. Who else? I don’t think Jay will wear a dress as well as you do,” I joke. “Seriously, you’re my closest friend. Who else would I have at my side when I get married?”
She blinks her fiery lashes rapidly to stem the flow of tears. “Frankie, I’d be honored.” She reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze, and I let her because she seems to need the connection more than I do. “Does this mean I get to plan a raunchy bachelorette party?”
“I’m not sure if I have the energy for raunchy, but a night with some greasy food and free flowing drinks sounds good.”
“Boring,” she growls and finishes her coffee, tossing it in the trash near the door. “Come on, let’s get us some dresses!”
She’s more excited than I am and that’s exactly why I need her with me. I can’t wait to marry Damien, but I’m not effusive the way Amelia is in my excitement, and it feels like what I need for this moment in my life. “Yeah, let’s.”
“This is the best place in town for elegant dresses that your groom-to-be can definitely afford.” Amelia’s smile is big as she lays her hands on my shoulders just outside the bridal boutique that looks too expensive for my wallet. Good thing I have Damien’s credit card. “So don’t you dare reject a dress based on price. Got it?”
I nod. “Yeah, okay. I’m not buying it anyway,” I say the moment one of the elegantly dressed women hands me a crystal flute of champagne. “Thank you,” I say, fully intimidated by the big display.
“So, what are we thinking?” The woman in charge is ultra stylish with a chin-length silver bob, an all-black outfit punctuated by red stilettos. She eyes me carefully. “Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll bring you what you want and what I think will look good on you. And let’s go from there.” She points to the glass. “Drink. It’ll make this easier.”