Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Don’t you apologize. I should be the one to say sorry, and I’m really sorry. I would never want you to think you’re not good enough as you are. You’re better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I press a kiss to his jaw and snuggle into his neck. “It was kind of you. And thoughtful. I wouldn’t want to turn up in something that wasn’t right for the evening. It would be embarrassing, and you buying these dresses—well, it makes sure that doesn’t happen.” I rest my palm over his chest. “You’re a good man, Jack. We’re just from two different worlds. When you’re in Star Falls, I can half forget that you grew up in some fancy New York house and went to some fancy school. You’re just my kind, handsome, geeky-about-Twilight Jack. Being here…” I look all around the interior of the plane. “It’s a lot. And it’s a long way from Star Falls.”
He nods and pulls me closer. “Just because we’re from different places doesn’t make this impossible.”
“I think we might be in for some turbulence,” I say, grinning up at him.
“That may be so, but talk to a pilot and they’ll always tell you that turbulence will never be the reason for a crash.”
Maybe not turbulence, but there’re a lot of other things that can send a plane hurtling toward the ground. I don’t want to think about all the things that could end us right now. This certainly shouldn’t come close.
I pull in a breath and press my lips to his. “I like the pink one,” I tell him in a whisper.
“That was my favorite too,” he replies.
“Can I tell you something else?” I ask.
“You can always tell me anything.”
“I want to do my own hair and makeup. Wearing a new dress is one thing, but I still want to feel like myself.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” he says. “But can I make a request?”
“Jack Alden, I know you want my hair up in a bun.” I grin at him.
“Guilty as charged.”
TWENTY-THREE
Jack
As we enter the Alden family box, the orchestra is tuning up.
“I love the sound of the musicians,” Iris whispers, beaming from ear to ear. Her dress looks incredible on her. It fit like a glove and any awkwardness about me buying her a dress for tonight seems to have been forgotten.
I’ve always known I’ve had more money than I could possibly ever need in my life, so I’ve never resented picking up the bill for dinner or paying for holidays. But the fact that Iris had to be persuaded to wear one of the dresses I bought her, tells me everything about her character. She loves me for me. She worries she’s not enough when she’s more than I could ever have hoped for. I particularly love that she decided she wanted to do her own hair and makeup. She has more confidence to navigate New York society than she thinks she does. She just needs to believe in herself.
“Wow, you can see everything up here,” Iris says, scanning the audience. “This is where you were when you saw me?”
I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her toward me, and point at where she was sitting that first night when I laid eyes on her. “You were right there. And your silhouette lit up when the principal dancers came to the front of the stage. You were enthralled. Completely mesmerized by the performance. And all I could see was you.” She turns her head and kisses me on the cheek when someone clears their throat behind us.
I turn to find Greg looking furtive. Iris spins to face him, too, and he glances between the two of us.
“I know I said your mother wasn’t attending tonight, but she had a last-minute change of heart.”
I roll my eyes. “You should have texted me.”
“I did. She decided twenty minutes ago.”
“Does she know I’m here?”
Greg nods. “I’ve informed her.”
I glance at Iris. I don’t even want to know if my mother knows I’ve brought someone. It doesn’t matter. I sigh. This just got more complicated.
“You’re about to meet the matriarch of the Alden family,” I say to Iris.
“Oh god,” Iris says. “Really?”
“Sorry, I had no idea she’d be here.”
Before I can say more, the curtains of the box part and my mother enters.
She sees me and smiles, then Iris, next to me, catches her attention. Her smile doesn’t falter. “Jack, darling. It’s been a while. Where have you been?”
“At Byron’s Club,” I say. “Mother, this is Iris Wilde. Iris, this is Mrs. Joan Alden, my mother.”
Iris holds out her hand and my mother gives it a short, cursory shake and her smile tightens. “Wilde. Wilde. Are you from New York?”
I roll my eyes at my mother’s snobbery. If you live in New York and my mother doesn’t recognize your surname, then you’re not worth knowing. “Iris lives in Colorado.”