Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Before I can deny the offer, he’s filling my wineglass.
“None for me, obviously.” Abbi holds her manicured hand over the glass. Something I should have done.
“That’s okay, we have a lovely nonalcoholic for you.” Another server appears to fill her glass, smiling at her as he pours.
“Abigail, you will be coming to the grand opening of the chateau, oui?” Margo asks as a third server comes around to pour red wine into her glass, as well as Henry’s and Ronan’s.
“Probably not. The baby will only be a few months old.” Abbi rests a hand on her belly. She touches it a lot, I’ve noticed. I guess that’s a normal thing that all pregnant women do? Will I end up doing that?
“You must! It is my crowning achievement!” Margo drapes her arm over the back of Ronan’s chair as she leans in. It’s very intimate and personal. “Henry, I insist that Abigail comes. How can we open the Wolf Chateau without you both there?”
“We’ll see how things go.” Henry swirls the freshly poured red wine around in his glass. “But I promise I’ll be there.”
Her bottom lip curves downward in a pout.
“Margo and Henry are opening a boutique Wolf hotel in Margo’s family castle in France,” Abbi explains without me needing to ask. “The first of its kind for the hotel chain.”
“That sounds exciting.” Another friend of his opening a hotel.
The supermodel pauses to assess me. “You should visit too.”
“Your boutique Wolf hotel in France.” I can’t help but laugh. These rich people have no concept of budgets and responsibilities. “Yeah. Maybe one day.”
“Sloane isn’t impressed by my luxury hotel chain,” Henry says smoothly. “She much prefers the comfort of her colorful little mobile homes.”
I grind my molars as I try to decipher what he means. Is that his sophisticated way of calling me trailer trash?
Abbi’s frown his way says she’s wondering the same.
Margo says something in French that I obviously don’t understand, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand it’s about me, her eyes grazing over me while she speaks.
Henry’s jaw clenches through a sip of his wine, and then he confidentially rattles something back, his French almost as smooth as hers.
They toss words back and forth.
“I hate it when they do this,” Abbi mutters through a sip of her fake wine.
“Do they do this a lot?” It’s beyond rude.
“Every time they’re together.”
I reach for my glass and then remember that I can’t have any, so I veer for the last of my lavender water. If there was ever a night to inhale booze, tonight would have been it.
Margo asks another question in her native tongue.
“No,” Ronan answers before Henry can and then flips into French, his tone calm but his face stony.
I blink in surprise. So Ronan speaks French. Another thing I didn’t know about the guy. There are so many things I don’t know about him.
Margo reaches up to toy with the ends of Ronan’s hair at his nape while she answers him. It’s an intimate move.
My jealousy burns. Is she hitting on him, right in front of me? Or is this how they always are?
A darker thought enters my mind almost immediately.
Have Ronan and Margo slept together?
“Joel and Margo have been dating for years,” Abbi says, as if reading my mind and gifting reassurances. It does little to ease my concern, though.
Ronan takes a lengthy sip of his wine, and then he says something back to her. After a beat, Margo slides her hand away from him. “It would please me greatly to see you at my chateau one day. Both of you.” She caps that off with a coy smile for me, one that holds many secrets.
I think I hate Margo Lauren.
I definitely want her far away from Ronan.
The waitstaff files out of the kitchen then, their arms laden with the first course.
“I suppose now is as good a time as any.” Henry taps his wineglass with his fork, the telltale dinging sounds drawing a hush as he stands. “Good evening, everyone. Abigail and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the new Mermaid Beach location. After five very long years with more than one hiccup along the way”—his gaze darts to me so quickly I doubt anyone notices—“we finally open the doors to patrons this weekend—”
“What are we if not patrons? The pig’s arse?” Preston hollers, earning a round of laughs.
“If we don’t have your credit card on file, you don’t count,” Henry throws back smoothly.
“But they do have yours, so cheers to that.” The obnoxious Brit lifts his glass in a toast, and several others follow suit.
Henry smirks. “On that note, let’s raise a glass to William Wolf.”
Everyone reaches for their glass, forcing me to do the same or become the petty asshole refusing to toast a dead guy.