Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Instead, I find myself watching the curve of her throat as she swallows her coffee, the way her fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the spark in her eyes as she speaks.
I’ve been sitting here for seventeen minutes.
Like a man who’s lost control of his own time management.
I’m not that man.
I make billion-dollar decisions before breakfast. I’m on the boards of six companies, three of which I reshaped from the inside out. I do not loiter curbside, ogling twenty-something women with whipped cream on their noses.
Which—yes—she has now.
And no, I don’t know why I’m still staring.
This is exactly how it started for your father.
The thought slinks in like it always does. One smile. One kiss. One woman who didn’t come from the right bloodline, and the kingdom fell apart.
He called it love...while the rest of his kingdom called it sheer idiocy.
I swore I would never be so weak.
And yet here I am. Staring. Waiting. Acting like the weak always act—hoping she looks up. Hoping she smiles.
She doesn’t.
But someone else does.
A man enters the bakery, and I wouldn’t have paid him any attention if not for the way he makes a beeline toward Scarlette’s table.
What the fuck?
My lip curls as I study him. He’s the tall, nerdy, older-man-next-door-type that some women would probably kill to date. If Scarlette’s one of them, then I’d just have to kill him.
He moves around her grandmother’s bakery-slash-cafe like he’s been coming here for years. Probably has, with how Scarlette seems at ease with him.
My hands clench.
I’m not fucking jealous.
I’m just...possessive.
And when I see him lean over as he says something that makes her laugh, just befor reacing for her face—my fiancée’s face, the fuck!—to wipe something from her cheek...
All I see is red.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
Does he know merely looking at MY woman can have him beheaded in my kingdom?
I step out of the limo.
Straighten my jacket.
Adjust my cuff links.
And start walking.
The small-town square is quaint, picture-perfect in a way that feels artificial to someone who grew up surrounded by palace walls and armed guards. People stop and stare as I cross the street, conversations faltering as I pass.
I ignore them all. My focus narrows to the glass door of the bakery, to the woman sitting just beyond it, still smiling up at the man who now occupies the seat across from her.
Fine.
If she needs reminding, I’ll give it to her.
Time to teach my little Scarlette Hood what it means to be engaged to the Big Bad Wolf.
Scarlette
“Earth to Scarlette, hello?”
Vaughn smiles at me in amusement when I blink at him in surprise. “This is your first time to not say hi to me when I come in. Should I be worried?”
I can only smile weakly while hiding my unease. I know he’s just teasing, and he doesn’t really care (he never has) if I notice him or not, but I can’t believe I’ve just ignored Vaughn, whom I’ve been crushing on my entire life.
Is this, like, the Lykan Qahiri Syndrome? And if it is, I need to find out a cure. ASAP.
“Sorry,” I say awkwardly, pushing my cold coffee around in circles. “Just thinking.”
Vaughn pulls out the chair across from me and sits down, his worn leather messenger bag dropping to the floor beside him. Today’s cardigan is forest green with—surprise, surprise—leather patches at the elbows. His light brown hair is rumpled as always, like he just rolled out of bed after a night with his favorite Hemingway novel.
“About?” he prompts, signaling to Grandma Jackie for his usual order.
How to answer that?
Oh, nothing much, just how I’ve apparently agreed to marry a billionaire sheikh who might be demolishing this bakery unless I go through with our fake engagement, and oh by the way, I’m suddenly questioning my lifelong crush on you because one kiss from him made me feel more than fifteen years of pining after you ever did?
Yeah, that would go over well.
“HR stuff.” This is not a lie. Right? “You know how it is.” I mean, he’s part of HR, by virtue of being, well, human.
Vaughn chuckles. “Like the time you included that fake employee in the newsletter?”
“Noh E. Tall was a valued team member,” I say primly, and Vaughn’s laugh—the one I’ve memorized like my favorite song—makes me smile despite everything.
This is familiar. This is safe. This is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Easy banter with the boy who’s starred in every daydream I’ve had since I was sixteen. The boy who’s always been completely oblivious to my feelings.
So why does it suddenly feel...not enough?
“You’ve got whipped cream on your face,” Vaughn says, leaning forward.
Before I can react, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, wiping away a dot of cream from my coffee. It’s an innocent gesture, one he’s done a hundred times before.