Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“You’re only giving me two months,” Charlie says with a half laugh. “Trust me, it’s not too early.”
The confused smile drops entirely from Chad’s face, and he whips his attention to Ava.
“We said August,” she reminds him.
“Of next year,” he replies, suddenly pale and looking panicked. “We can’t get married in two fucking months, Ava.”
“Why not?”
He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, and I suddenly wish I had popcorn for this show.
“Because I have two huge cases this summer, in addition to all of the other work on my plate. I’m slammed through the end of the year, so the wedding can’t happen until after the holidays, at the earliest.”
Ava’s eyes dim, and her shoulders slump just a bit, and I suddenly have the urge to key Chad’s car.
What an ass. If he was obsessed with her, he’d give her the fucking wedding whenever she wants it. Take a weekend off and get hitched.
It’s not hard, Chad.
Stay neutral, Darby. You’re here for Ava.
“Honestly, whether it’s August of this year or next,” Charlie interrupts, “it’s never too early to get started planning. There’s so much you can do now, and things book up fast around here. I know you have a venue that doesn’t have competition at the ranch, but—”
“What ranch?” Chad asks.
“The Yellowstone Ranch, and Rip’s gonna officiate.” Harper rolls her eyes because she just can’t help herself, and Ava’s eyes widen in warning. “The fucking Hendrix Ranch, Chad. What do you think?”
“I don’t want to get married amongst the cows,” Chad says, shaking his head. “We need a proper venue that doesn’t smell like shit and make us look like rednecks.”
“Oh, ranch weddings can be gorgeous, and not at all rustic looking,” Charlie begins, but Chad’s shaking his head, glaring at Ava, who’s light has completely died. She nibbles her lip, her eyes downcast, and this is not the Ava I know, who’s quick witted and has an answer for every damn thing.
“No ranch wedding,” he insists.
“What ever happened to men thinking about the wedding their fiancée has dreamed about since they were a little girl?” Harper asks the room, and Chad rounds on her.
“She’s not a little girl,” he replies. “She’s a grown woman, a professional, and I have my eye on politics, so we will have an elegant wedding in an appropriate venue, next year.”
“February,” Ava says. “I’ll wait until February. It’s after the holidays, unless you consider Presidents’ Day or Valentine’s Day to be holidays that might interfere with your busy schedule.”
“Now you’re being—”
“Watch it, Chad,” I say, smiling sweetly.
“Fine, February.” He huffs out a sigh and then shakes his head and pulls Ava in for a hug. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but I can’t do it so soon. And I want you to have a gorgeous venue with all the bells and whistles. I don’t want you to settle.”
I think she already is, but I manage not to say that out loud.
“Okay, we can talk about venues.” Ava turns to Charlie and forces a smile that I absolutely hate. “Is it possible for you to find out what’s available that month?”
“Sure, I’ll make some calls and put together a list of what’s available on which dates, and we can go from there.”
“Thanks.” Ava turns to us. “Sorry this took a turn I wasn’t expecting.”
“Hey, we’re here for you,” I remind her, ignoring the douche canoe altogether. “No matter what.”
“Come out to the ranch and see Tucker,” I say to Harper as we leave Ava’s place. Charlie already left for her next appointment, and Ava and Chad are . . . talking.
“Yes, please,” Harper says with a grin. “I’ll follow you out there. Maybe I can talk him into cooking me something delicious.”
“I think that’s guaranteed,” I reply and hop in the car.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re parked and climbing out of our cars, and when we walk inside, I find Tucker standing in the kitchen, staring in the fridge.
“I brought you a surprise,” I tell him, and when he turns to see Harper standing with me, the baby in her arms, his eyes soften and he closes the fridge. First, he stops to kiss my lips, then pulls both Harper and Belle into a gentle hug.
“How are you guys?” Tucker asks.
“We’re good. Maybe a little tired, but figuring things out. Do you want her?”
My man immediately takes the baby, and once again, my ovaries do the hula. Because his biceps look like that when he’s holding a baby, and Jesus Christ on a cracker, it appears my child bearing years are not over.
“What’s for dinner?” Harper asks.
“I was just thinking about that,” Tucker replies. “Are you staying?”
“Hell yes, and I want something extra good. Ooh, can you make your spaghetti?”
“Sure.” He smiles over at me. “Do you like spaghetti, Duchess?”