Page 72 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
I didn’t mean to type that.
ME: Sorry. I woke up at 4am. I’m kind of tired and my brain/mouth filter isn’t working.
THOMAS: Huh. I didn’t know you had one of those things.
ME: …I think that’s an insult.
THOMAS: Maybe.
ME: Didn’t you text me to help me out of this problem with the veil? Is insulting me necessary?
THOMAS: I have a meeting. Can we talk later?
ME: Why are you like this?
ME: Why would you text me and not tell me?
ME: Is this because I kissed you last night and you’re punishing me?
THOMAS: …That’s quite the leap.
THOMAS: I really don’t have the time. Can I call you when I’m done? I’m 99.9% sure I’ve fixed this but I’m logging on for my meeting now.
ME: YOU ARE AS IRRITATING AS THE DAY YOU THREW THAT FUCKING CRICKET BALL AT MY EYE YOU BASTARD
THOMAS: I’ll talk to you later.
ME: YOU COULD HAVE JUST TEXTED ME LATER
ME: What a cliffhanger.
I stared at the screen for a moment longer, but he really must have gone because no response came.
That git.
That sneaky, rotten git.
I was going to throw a turkey at him. Afrozenone. Right at his bloody handsome face.
Probably only a small one, though. I wasn’tthatstrong, and those suckers were heavy, especially when they were frozen.
I put my phone down and shoved my laptop to the side so I could lie down. I pulled the covers right up over myself and closed my eyes, lying flat on my back with my hands linked across my stomach.
One more bad thing, and I was going to channel my inner Wednesday Addams and cross my arms over my chest.
A coffin didn’t sound like a bad idea, either.
I doubted I’d be able to drift off for a nap, but I really needed a moment to breathe. It was officially exactly two weeks until the wedding and I was feeling the pressure. I really did want it all to go perfectly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the veil was going to be the least of my problems when it came down to it.
I wanted to shake it. Badly. But it was the same niggling gut feeling that said your boyfriend was cheating on you or that you actuallydidn’thave any chicken at home in the fridge, no matter how much you thought otherwise.
I couldn’t fathom anything else going wrong.
I really needed everything else to go off without a hitch. In fact, the only hitching I wanted was the one between my sister and Julian.
I sighed and opened my eyes. I was right. There was no chance I’d drift off now. Maybe the nap gods would smile upon me this afternoon.
I got out of bed, grabbed my things, and went downstairs. Nana and Gramps were goodness knows where—they had more of a social life than I did—and Beatrix Trotter was asleep on a dog bed in front of an electric radiator.
