Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
She looked...good. Beautiful actually, with her red hair silky and shining, curled against her back, and effortlessly elegant with her still-slender body sheathed in a loose, gauzy blouse with bell-bottom sleeves and white capris.
“Do you know what time it is?” he asked jerkily.
“About four thirty in the morning?” she answered, a wobbly smile appearing on her lips.
“That’s right.” His fists clenched. “Too early for the wedding.” And yet she was already here, and a sick feeling started in his stomach as the billionaire tried not to think what that meant.
When Fredericka’s lips started to part, fear made him beat her to speaking, and he heard himself ask, “Have you seen the invitations?” He had never been a coward, but it had long dawned on him that love had the power to make a man become anything.
Fool, idiot, and now – a spineless groom-to-be clutching at straws.
“I learned calligraphy for it,” he continued tautly when she only stared at him, eyes unblinking.
“I know.” Her smile slowly faded, and the sight chipped at his heart. “I r-read it on the papers...among other things.”
Ah. He said quietly, “The jokes don’t bother me.”
She bit her lip hard, the look on her face telling him that she was holding back from saying anything.
He breathed sharply, feeling that with every second that passed, the further she was slipping away from him. “Are you hungry? We can have breakfast—-”
“Sergei.”
Her voice tapered out in the end, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, and the sight of it nearly drove him to his knees. This was it, he thought lifelessly. This was the end, and even knowing that he should simply bow out gracefully – he just couldn’t.
“I fucked up,” he said bleakly, raising his eyes to her. “I know I fucked up, Erie—-”
“Sergei—-”
“Please.”
“I don’t want to hear another word,” she said shakily. “Okay?”
The billionaire whitened.
“I came here to get my stuff. That’s all. So there’s no need to say any of those things – okay?” And as if she could no longer bear hearing his voice again, she pushed past him and entered the house.
“Fredericka?” Sergei heard his father call out in obvious shock, and it was only then he realized that he wasn’t the only one awake in the house. Fredericka’s reply was muffled, and when the billionaire finally found the strength to turn around, he saw that his whole damn family was on the stairs, all of them immobile as Fredericka marched past them.
When Fredericka disappeared from view, Misha came to him, clapping a hand over his shoulders. “Prosti.”
The billionaire nodded jerkily. “It’s no one’s fault but mine.” He lowered his head, thinking that he had become exactly what Fredericka had feared. Someone who acted exactly like his goddamn age, someone immature enough to have been swayed by past trauma. Someone who didn’t deserve her trust—-
He heard Seri gasp, and for some reason, he also heard Vassi whistle.
The billionaire’s head jerked up, and the first thing he saw was Fredericka, dressed in the wedding gown he had purchased for her.
“I told you,” she said shakily, eyes bright with unshed tears. “You didn’t have to say any of those words. I really just came here to get this.” Fredericka watched Sergei take several steps up, her heart aching painfully at the rather clumsy way he moved. He had always been impossibly elegant, and now—-
“I listened to your every message, you know,” she whispered. “And I read all your emails.”
The billionaire stilled.
“It tended to get kinda repetitive in the end,” she teased with a tremulous smile, “but those were my favorite parts.”
“Was it?” It had taken a long time for the billionaire to answer, but when he did, the sound of his silky tone was so wonderfully familiar that this time she just couldn’t stop the tears from rushing down.
Nodding vehemently at him, she said, “They were my favorite because they reminded me of what was important.”
The billionaire reached her then, and she smiled up at him, cupping his face, saying, “You did fuck up—-”
A hoarse laugh escaped him. “And that’s the important part?”
“No. The important part was that you only fucked up once. But before it – before this, I was the one who fucked up, again and again, and you always forgave me. You always came after me, and so—-” Her voice caught. “How can I not forgive you, too?”
He had already hauled her to him before she even finished speaking, and she was already sobbing against his chest by the time he whispered fiercely, “I love you.” He kissed her hard, saying hoarsely against her lips, “Thank you for still letting me be your trophy husband.”
Epilogue
The waiting room was once again fully packed when I arrived for my three-fifteen appointment, and just my luck, the first thing I saw playing on the wall-mounted monitor was a live interview of Elsa Nilsson.