Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
He tilted his head to the side and made a non-committal noise, like he couldn’t really decide how to answer. “They’re best kept at opposite ends of the country. And by country, probably Africa.”
“That’s a continent, not a country.”
“There you are, then.”
“They seem to be getting along somewhat. Aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s what scares me,” he replied, taking a big gulp of wine. “It’s like toddlers. When they’re quiet, they’re scary. When my mother and grandpa get along, it’s downright terrifying.”
“Maybe they are trauma bonding. Who knew a bridezilla would heal the family rift? I bet that wasn’t on your bingo card.”
“My bingo card?” he laughed, almost falling to the side towards me. “I can’t say I have one.”
“We should make one. It might make the next few days a little more bearable.”
“You’re going to make a bingo card to survive my sister’s wedding?”
“It’ll make the trauma fun,” I pointed out, swinging my feet off his lap. I put my glass on the coffee table and got up, darting into the bedroom to my suitcase. I had a notebook and pencil-case in there, and I grabbed both.
“Are you really—oh, my God, Grace.” William’s face was the picture of amusement and befuddlement, and that only made this ridiculousness even more fun.
“What? I’ve already been attacked by a cockatiel. We might as well. Who knows what else is going to happen?”
He sighed and patted the sofa. “Go on, then. But that’s the last time I let you drink this much wine.”
“You try and stop me.” I dropped down next to him, tucked one foot under me, and flipped through the notebook until I found a blank page. After digging a pen out, I crudely sketched a bingo card. “Is that enough spaces?”
“Too many columns,” he replied, touching a fingertip to each square. “It’s supposed to be five by five.”
“Oh, bollocks.” I flipped the page and tried again, this time counting them out. “Better?”
“Your penmanship requires some work, but it’ll do.”
“You do it then.” I shoved the pen at him.
“Goodness, no. Even doctors complain about my handwriting.”
I rolled my eyes and wrote ‘free’ in the middle square. “Right, that’s our free spot. What’s going to happen this weekend?”
“Hopefully you’ll get attacked by Chewy again. I’m sorry to have missed it.”
“I hate you,” I muttered, writing ‘Chewy attacks Grace’ in one of the squares. “What about a family fight?”
“You’ll have to be more specific. I suspect there’ll be many.”
“Okay… Your sister throws something at someone.”
“Probably the most likely.”
I wrote it down.
William smacked his lips together. “Aunt Cecelia tells us about all the parts of her body she’s had removed.”
I did a double-take and turned to face him. “Does she do it often?”
“Far more than one would like,” he said ruefully, lips quirking up. “Some of them have to be easy to cross off.”
“Fair enough.” I added that in. “Your dad has another suit fitting.”
“All of us, probably.”
“Something arrives late?”
“For our sakes, I hope not, but likely given the weather.”
“It snows every day.”
“My God, Grace. Are you trying to curse the wedding?”
Laughing, I leant against his side, pushing him over a little, before righting myself. “Don’t be ridiculous. I thought we were throwing out suggestions.”
“All right, all right.” William laughed and rested his arm over the back of the sofa. “Given what it’s like outside, you should probably add it in.”
“See?” I nudged him with my elbow. “Now, what else?”
He tilted the notebook towards him. “If this is all happening this weekend, I’m a little scared of it, never mind anything else being added.”
“Don’t be grumpy,” I said, peering over at him. “Whoever gets bingo first, wins.”
“Wins what?”
“I don’t know. You just… win.”
“What’s the point in winning without a prize?”
“Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s a winner these days.”
William snorted. “If I was told that in school, I’d have cracked the egg from the egg and spoon race over someone’s head.”
“Oh, you went to a fancy school, I see. With real eggs.” Like I didn’t.
“Not anymore. They stopped it when we caused an egg fight during one sports day,” he said, meeting my gaze. “The seagulls were right bastards after that.”
“I’m not sure I want to ask,” I said slowly.
“Best not to. Story of my childhood, really. But we need a prize, or this is all a waste of time.”
“Well, what do you suggest? I’m not buying you dinner, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’d never let you.” His lips tugged to one side, and that stupid little playful glint was in his eye again. “I know.”
“What?” I tilted my head slightly. “You’re scaring at me. Stop looking at me like that.”
“If you win, I will begrudgingly accept your wish never to speak to me again after this weekend.”
“Even if we happen to run into one another?”
“I will smile and do that little chin jerk thing men do.”
“Ah, the one where they think they look cool. The ‘’sup’ one.”