Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
I don’t know why I didn’t think that would be possible to pull off, but between my own mother and Eleanor, those women could get just about anything done, and I’m thankful. I’m not as bossy as them, even when I try. It’s just not my nature. We all have our own strong suits, which is something I’ve come to accept and understand. It’s these small things that make up who you are that draw you to certain people. A perfect offset.
I see that with Wells and my best friend Truly. Don’t try to be who you’re not, and don’t allow others to turn you into something you’re not.
With everything that happened with Cordelia, I was kind of happy about the way I handled it all in the end. Even though she turned out to be disingenuous. I gave her a chance, I tried; it was her that made the decisions that she did.
The palace suite smells of gardenias and champagne, and sunlight streams through the windows that overlook the gardens where they are actively preparing for the wedding.
I still can’t believe all of this is real. Most times I have to pinch myself to make sure. I sit in a silk robe, my hand resting on the small curve of my stomach, watching Truly try to pin up Eleanor’s hair while my own mother laughs.
When I told my mom about the wedding and baby, she asked to come out. She’s been here since. It’s been nice, and we even got to have a heart-to-heart. I might not be bossy, but I’m more open to telling people when I have an issue, not worried about what they might think or if it will upset them.
“Stop moving,” Truly scolds Eleanor. I’m not the least bit shocked that she would scold a literal queen. Truly is smiling, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “You’re worse than Mable.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I protest, though I’ve been fidgeting all morning. I can’t help it. I’m excited about everything, not nervous in the least.
My hand goes to my stomach. I’m three months along. We haven’t told anyone yet, except for Truly, obviously. We’re saving it for after the ceremony.
Wells is already making plans for the nursery and has ordered books on fatherhood. He couldn’t help himself. I love how much he wants this too.
My breathtaking dress hangs on its stand by the window—Natalie’s masterpiece. I told her what I wanted, and she brought it to life. Rose gold thread catches the light, the bodice designed to drape rather than cinch. She was excited by the challenge. I knew she would create something magnificent, and she truly outdid herself.
“Your man is going to lose his mind when he sees you,” my mother says, dabbing at her eyes. She’s been rather smitten with Wells. “My baby, a queen.”
“Not yet,” I remind her.
“But soon,” Eleanor corrects, checking her watch. “If he—”
A banging on the door has us all turning toward it. It can’t be a crazy person because sanity is thick around here. The door rattles on its frame, and I know who it is before he speaks. I can’t help but smile. I’m actually a little surprised it took him this long.
“Mable!” Caldwell’s voice is muffled but still articulate. “I know you’re in there. Open this door or I’m taking it off the hinges.”
Eleanor’s eyes go wide. Truly presses her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. My mother’s laugh is a wheeze she tries to smother. The three of them exchange glances—conspiratorial, delighted—and I watch them dissolve into silent giggles, the kind women share when they know something men don’t.
“She’s not ready!” Eleanor calls out, her voice steady despite the laughter dying in her throat. “Go away!”
“Never.” Another bang. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday. That’s fourteen hours.” He pauses. “Thirty-two minutes and seven seconds. Unacceptable.”
Oh my God, I love that man. I had a feeling this might happen. Last night was the first night Wells and I didn’t share a bed since we met. He wasn’t too excited about that, but Truly was here, and we were having a girls’ night. Her husband wasn’t too excited about it either. Not like we were going to have a wild party; we’re both pregnant.
“Tradition,” my mother tells him with a smirk.
“Fuck tradition.”
Truly actually snorts and then claps both hands over her face, her whole body shaking with suppressed laughter. If he knows how funny we think this is, he won’t relent. Who am I kidding? He’s not going to either way.
I bite my lip, my own chest tight with it—the joy of being wanted this much and the absurdity of him.
“Two minutes,” Eleanor calls, and the women move as one, gathering champagne flutes, adjusting already-perfect arrangements, and pretending to be annoyed as they file toward the door.
“He’s impossible,” Eleanor mutters, but she is smiling when she kisses my cheek. “Enjoy him.”