Page 127 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"Ow," I half yell, "What the hell, you dumbfuck? That hurt!"
"Good." He smirks. "Had to find the fastest way to get some sense through that thick skull of yours."
"What-fucking-ever."
Arpad laughs; the others chuckle.
"Now what?" I protest. "What is it you guys are trying to tell me?"
"Something that even that tosser Baron realizes, and he isn’t even around." Jace joins us to complete the strange whatever-it-is that is going on here.
"Which is?" I finally ask.
"That you love her."
"You can’t live without her."
"You need her and you better not fuck this up."
"You better take this opportunity and run with it and turn your life around or else—"
"Fine, fine," I half yell. "You guys are scaring me, with this weird emo, group hug thing."
"Group hug?" Arpad snorts. "What is a group hug of alphaholes called anyway?"
"A hole in the heart?" Weston offers.
"An alpha pit?" Edward grimaces. "Maybe not."
"Shitholes?"
Arpad laughs, "Forget I asked. The fact is, we may act like we don’t give a fuck—which often, arguably, we don’t—but in this instance, we’re not giving you a choice, man. You’re going to embrace this chance and make the fucking most of it."
"Stop yelling in my ear; I can hear you just fine," I grumble.
"It’s time." Arpad glances around the group, "Shall we show this chap we mean business?"
My heart begins to race, adrenaline laces my blood, and I sense their intent a second before the tossers haul me up and carry me, up and toward the sliding doors of the room that opens out onto the rooftop where the tables have been laid out for the reception later. Beyond that all of London can be seen; but that’s not what interests me as much as the glimmer of blue in the center… A fucking pool.
"Don’t you fucking dare, you wankers, you dicks, you…pratholes."
I hear their laughter as I fall through the air.
41
Julia
"You ready?"
Isla straightens from where she’s righted the hem of my skirt. My very short skirt that comes up to mid-thigh. I shuffle my feet—now clad in leather boots that come to over my knees. And the heels? Well, let’s just say I feel like Wonder Woman right now, or Lady Gaga in her heyday… God knows, I need the confidence of both, rolled up together, to walk into that room. I stare at the double doors that are currently closed, and gulp. My fingers tremble and I clench them together. No flowers… Okay, so no real flowers. Instead, I have a bouquet of flowers made out of long-life clay, the kind that will last a long time, and become a true family heirloom. Something I hope to, one day, pass down to my children… When I have them… Me and Damian and our children. Jesus, will I have his kids? Will this marriage, that came out of nowhere—so what, if I had initiated it?—result in something that will last at least as long as this clay flower bouquet? Or will it wither away like those made of real flowers? Destined to be pressed into the pages of a book and be remembered for its shortness, the intensity with which it took place, only for things to implode? Are we destined to become a fly-by-night headline of the paparazzi? Here today, gone tomorrow? With not even the printed word having recorded our brief encounter? St-o-p right there. Talk about having an overactive imagination, huh? Jesus H, I need to get out of my head.
"Is it too much, you think?" I glance between Isla, who’s listening to something on her ear piece, to Summer, who looks me up and down, to Victoria, who flanks me, serene as always, in her pale green gown. They’d all agreed to be bridesmaids and walk me up the aisle, more out of encouragement than tradition. Not that anything about this wedding is old school. Far from it.
"You look like a rock star’s bride." Victoria smiles at me.
"Is that good?" I wonder aloud.
"You look perfect." Summer smiles at me, her pale pink gown molding her slim curves and setting off her dark hair with the pink tips that she recently added. Her eyes gleam and she chuckles as she looks me up and down, "Karma had this couriered to me. Thank God, I got it to you in time."
