Page 8 of Your Coffin or Mine
Completely irritated now that my brain obviously isn’t going to shut off any time soon, I push the sheet away and stretch, growing even more annoyed at the sweat beaded on the back of my neck.So gross.
Ten minutes later, I slam my feet into my bunny slippers and march down the staircase, muttering under my breath.I know Itook my bra and sweater off last night and left them on the back of my chair in my room. This Murphy’s Law has got to end.My slippers thwap softly across the parquet wooden floor of the hallway. Sheesh this place is big.
The walls are a deep burgundy, which is really making all the gold sconces and chandeliers stand out but there’s not much on the walls. Weird.
I wish the airport didn’t lose my luggage because now I’m forced to wear my pajamas through the castle. I need to wash my dirty clothes from thehoursof either boring or terrifying air travel.
“Oh my god, it’s somehow hotter down here.”
I run my hand down the smooth wooden railing of the main staircase as my eyes catch on the winter wonderland I can see out the foyer windows. I’m in here, sweating my ass off, and it looks like a blizzard is happening outside.
“Doyle?” I call out, wondering where he would be at this time in the morning.
“Umm, good morning,” he says, appearing at the bottom of the stairs like he sensed me coming.
“Why is it so hot? I swear I am baking.” I push away the sticky strands of hair that have fallen out of my topknot. “If I had a bikini in my bag, I would be wearing it.”
Hopefully the airline calls about my luggage soon, but at least there’s a fat chance of freezing to death, as hot as it is in my room.
He frowns. “You’re not cold?” He says this and looks at me as if it’s my fault it’s so hot.
“No! It’s like a freaking sauna in here.” I point at the snow outside and pull at the fabric of my nightshirt. “Pretty sure you got your money’s worth on insulation or something. Seriously, dude, I am dying.”
His face pales. “My apologies. There must be an issue with the heating. If you give me a moment, I will have that turned down for you.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” My tummy grumbles. “Umm, is there breakfast somewhere? I didn’t get a chance to look over the website.”
I am praying there is. It’s been six months since Chad insisted we start fasting before our wedding, and now that there is no Chad, I am going to eat all the things. If I never have to speak the word diet again, that would be great.
“Down the hallway and to your left,” he replies. “We thought you may be up early due to the time difference, so everything is ready. Thechefis warming it up now.”
“Hey, how is it you’re not sweating?” I ask, but when I look back, he’s gone. Crap, I meant to ask about my missing clothes.
I can’t help but sigh with relief when cool air blasts me as I finally find the huge dining room, and my eyes catch on the obviously expensive and massive chandelier overhead. Jeez, this place is like a freaking palace—even the walnut-colored chairs look to be centuries old. They must be replicas.
As I head toward the grand table set up with breakfast and overlooking the grounds, my tummy lets out an almighty growl.
“Be Our Guest” randomly pops into my head, and I start to hum, looking up at the woodworked ceiling in awe. Maybe that’ll be the hashtag: “If you found the beast’s castle.”
I sit down to doom-scroll social media, ready to devour whatever is on my plate—that is, until I actually look down and take it all in. What the...? I don’t even know what I’m looking at. At worst, it looks like a flattened turd, and at best, a charred miscellaneous bit of meat. This looks nothing like any breakfast I’ve ever come across, and I am not so sure I’mthiseager to cheat on my diet.
“Try it.”
My fork falls, clattering loudly onto the table. “Jesus, you scared me.”
I turn to find the voice and my mouth falls open. Holy shit.
The most gorgeous man I have ever seen leans against a side door that I hadn’t noticed when I came into the room. His arms are crossed over his suit-covered chest and his mouth is set in a thin, downturned line. He stands unmoving, and I feel my face heat the longer I stare, but I can’t seem to make myself look away.
The dark-brown hair falling across his forehead has my fingers itching to brush it back to see his coffee-colored eyes better. But it still can’t hide the fact that he could seriously star in every men’s magazine ever and would definitely cause panties across America to combust. Especially with the trimmed mustache and goatee, his stubble going up his cheeks and jaw.
God, Aubrey. Stop drooling.I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
My lips curve up into a smile, but he doesn’t even twitch.
“I said try it,” he bites out.
“Umm, okay?” I look down at the weird dark-colored patties and blink. “What is it?”
