Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“Isaak, I—”
He looks over at me and chucks me under the chin, his eyes softening. “Go eat cake, Red. You don’t want to be late.”
It feels like all the breath is pinched off in my lungs. Even worse than him being remote is him being sweet. I want to punch him on the shoulder and tell him not to be sweet. But that makes no sense at all and would make me seem like more of a neurotic mess than I already am, so I just turn and push my way out of the truck, landing with a little hop on the pavement.
He follows me as I head towards the cake shop, but like he said, he stops outside the glass window front.
Little bells ring overhead as I step through the door, and my heart drops when I see Drew already seated inside. I haven’t seen him since the engagement party, and we’ve only barely communicated through the occasional text. He didn’t push when I never got back to him after he texted that night at the club. If there’s one thing I do like about Drew, it’s that he doesn’t push.
“Hey,” I say as I join him at the little table.
He stands up to hug me. “Hey.”
I feel awkward as I let him embrace me, and I wonder what Isaak’s thinking if he’s watching through the window. I pull away as quickly as I can, glad to sit across the table from Drew.
He’s as handsome and well-groomed as ever, but I find myself critiquing his narrow face and jaw when I compare it to Isaak’s more masculine, brutal features. I always thought Drew was the height of male beauty and sex appeal, but yeah, now… not so much.
“How’ve you been?” he asks, and it feels like we’re two friends from college catching up after not having seen each other for years.
“Good, good,” I say, trying to make myself smile. “You know, just finishing out the semester with the kids.”
He mocks a wince. “God, I don’t know how you put up with them. They’re so entitled these days.”
It takes everything in me not to scoff in disbelief. As if he’s one to talk. As if either of us are.
“How’ve things been at the senator’s office?” I ask.
This time his wince is genuine.
I reach a hand across the table, then withdraw it before I can take Drew’s. I still feel so conscious of Isaak watching. “That bad?”
If Drew notices my withdrawn hand, he doesn’t show it. He’s talking fast like he does when he’s excited about something. “You know Dad. Always so focused on the next campaign. He wants me to run for the Dallas City Council next year and invite a few more people to the wedding who could be key supporters.” He waves a quick hand. “I assured him it wouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Oh, how kind of him. Still, I just nod like a bobblehead at all this new information coming at me so quickly.
“But I thought—” I finally manage to utter.
Drew’s still just grinning and busy signaling to the staff that we’re ready.
“Hmm?” He finally looks back at me.
“Since when do you want to go into politics?” I ask, baffled. “I thought that was the last thing on Earth you wanted to do. I thought you got a degree in business because you wanted to work with start-ups and be an entrepreneur.” A self-made man, he always said. Someone his dad would have to respect.
He waves a hand, a larger gesture this time. “That was all just kid stuff. Dad’s finally at a place where he really believes in me.” He grins, flashing all his teeth. “And is willing to invest.”
“Invest?” I ask, still baffled. “In what?”
He looks at me as if I’ve lost the plot.
“In me. Haven’t you been listening to a single thing I’ve been saying? He finally believes in me. After all this time.” He laughs like he can’t believe it.
I can only stare at him, my mouth open. Is he serious? Just like that?
I want to keep protesting, both for his sake but also mine, too. Our entire lives, he had nothing but spite for his abusive father and the grimy, immoral world of politics his father inhabits.
Not to mention, I never agreed to be a politician’s wife.
But he’s already turning away to welcome and charm the shop owner, who’s come over to the table with the last tasting plate of our final cake selection. She’s a young blonde woman. Drew’s actual type, I can’t help thinking acidly.
“Well, yes, thank you,” he grins up at her with that politician’s smile. “That does look like the most delicious champagne cake I’ve ever seen in my whole darn life.”
I frown, staring. If this is all what I really think, then why the hell am I marrying him?