Page 37 of VOGUEish

She stopped and looked him in the eyes. “We found them all at a consignment flea market where a lot of famous people have booths.”

He laughed. “That’s one hell of a thrift store.”

She glanced at the beeping red light of an old-fashioned answering machine. “Do you mind? No one ever leaves messages, so when they do, it unnerves me.”

“Not at all. Go ahead. I haven’t seen one of those in a while. I didn’t even know they still made them.”

“Chloe’s big on having a landline number in case of a catastrophe and cells don’t work.” Isabella pushed the playback button.

“Hi, honey. It’s Mom. Dad and I will be in town tomorrow night. We’d like to have dinner. Your father and I are anxious to hear more about this man you mentioned over Christmas. Wouldn’t a spring wedding be lovely?”

“Fuck.” Isabella stared at the machine, her face drained of color.

Chandler’s chest tightened. A spring wedding, hell. Had she lied about being available? “You’re…involved?”

Isabella gazed blankly in his direction. “What?”

He pointed at the answering machine. “Are you in a relationship?”

She rubbed both hands down her face. “No. Sorry. It’s a long, clickbait story.”

He drew his brows in. “A what kind?”

“You know, the kind where the ending leaves you wishing you hadn’t bothered.”

Not a chance. “Bother me.”

She blew out a shaky breath. “I told my mom about the snob. Only I left out that part and instead fabricated a few good parts.”

“The one your neighbor mentioned?”

“One and the dick same.”

He chuckled. Her less than ladylike turns of phrase were refreshing. “What good parts did you give him?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and shrugged. “Made him a heart surgeon. Moms eat that MD alphabet soup up.”

“Do you feel pressured to get married to make your parents happy?” That’s one thing he’d never had to worry about. Of course, he knew Nonna would love to see him crazy in love, but she wasn’t the sort to pressure him. All she asked was that he make the time to date and therefore give himself the opportunity to fall in love.

“Not on purpose,” Isabella said. “But Mom lights up when I am dating someone who has potential as a husband, which is reason enough for me to accept Nonna’s offer to help me search for my Prince Charming. Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

“Did you have a new one in mind?”

She nodded. “Actually, I do.”

“And it is?”

“My New Year’s resolution.”

“What about it?”

She picked up a blue satin ribbon from the coffee table, pulled her hair back, and tied it, leaving her neck bare for viewing.

Like Pavlov’s dog, his mouth immediately watered. Was that her intention? To make him salivate? To make his tongue yearn to trace the soft curve of her neck? To yank his thoughts away from heavy topics and onto lighter ones? Of course, it wasn’t. He wasn’t her type. The only problem was, she was quickly becoming his type. Why was it again he avoided women from the Fairy Godmother Project?

“I decided to make more fun choices this year.”

“Why?”

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