Page 99 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
31
“Just because she likes the same bizzaro crap you do doesn’t make her your soul mate.”
-500 days of Summer. Director: Marc Webb
Sin
"She's late."
I crack my neck, shift my weight from foot to foot.
"Where the fuck is she?" I rub the back of my neck, "I hate being kept waiting."
"Better get used to it, old chap." Saint smirks from his position by the window.
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"Simmer down."
"Don't tell me what to do," I grumble, begin to pace.
It’s not that I am uncomfortable… Okay, maybe a little. Not because I am the cynosure of all eyes. I thrive on the attention. But the fact that I am here, cooling my heels, in front of the people who know me for always being in charge, the one who calls the shots and ensures everything always runs to plan—that she is making me wait? Unacceptable.
This woman is taking advantage of the fact that I can’t do much about it. Not yet, not right now in front of the group of people assembled in the back garden of my house.
Summer loves this space—I'd caught her walking among the flower beds, her head raised to the sun to catch the sun rays—and no that's not why I chose it as the venue for the nuptials. It was practical. That was the only reason... right? I rub the back of my neck.
"Good thing it’s not raining, huh?" Saint stares up at the clear blue skies.
"So that’s what we’ve been reduced to talking about, the weather, huh?"
"I'm being considerate of your pride." He shoots me a sideways glance. "Better unlearn that attitude of yours. It’s downhill all the way from here."
"Shut your trap, you fuck."
His grin widens, "This is only the beginning, her making you wait at the altar. When you’re enjoying marital bliss, don’t forget about the reason why you embarked on this trip."
"You have it all wrong."
"Do I?" He arches an eyebrow.
I drag my finger around the collar of my shirt.
A trickle of sweat runs between my shoulder blades. Could do with some cloud cover about now. But, of course, on the one day that I’d counted on the weather behaving per norm, everything has to turn out to be as surprise. I glance at the watch on my wrist. She’s fucking late.
"Fifteen minutes." Edward’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
I peer up at him. "Sixteen minutes now."
"She’s the bride."
"It’s a fucking pretend wedding." I lower my chin.
"Not from where I am." One side of his lip arches up. The Father is enjoying himself.
"Don’t get too used to it." I growl.
"I don’t know, from where I am, it’s a wonderful sight, seeing you all uncomfortable, Sin."
