Page 4 of The Bad Wedding Date

“I’m sorry. Words just fall out of my mouth a lot,” I offered.

“My kind of woman. I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m not good with small talk myself.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

“Well, I’ve heard all sorts of stories about the freaks of London, and when you kept mumbling away to yourself, tapping your foot non-stop, and scrunching your eyes shut over and over again, I wasn’t sure if you were one of them.”

“If this is a line or a way to get talking to women, you might want to think of something new.”

“It wasn’t a line.” He smirked. “I don’t need those.”

“Of course, you don’t.”

“But if it had been, here you are… talking to me.”

Dammit.“That doesn’t mean I’m enjoying this. Especially not when a stranger sits next to me and calls me a freak.”

“I didn’t say you were a freak. I said I was worried you could be.”

“Do I look like one?”

“No. No, you don’t.”

A moment’s silence hung between us, and I thought he’d grown tired of my charmless nature until his gaze drifted down to my outfit.

“Going somewhere nice?”

I gave my dress a quick glance and clutched my purse in my lap. “Just a wedding.”

“Justa wedding? Aren’t those meant to be a big deal?”

I smiled tightly. “I’d rather be going to prison.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said, copying my smile.

“I’m not joking.”

“Bold statement. What is it, then? You don’t like weddings in general, or you don’t like the bride and groom?”

“Both.”

He scowled. “Then, why are you putting yourself through it? If something makes you miserable, you shouldn’t suffer it.”

“While that sounds decent in theory, it’s my sister’s wedding, and if I don’t make sure I’m there for at least the ceremony, my mother will drag my face through the crowds, take me to The Tower of London, throw me in the Bloody Tower, and…”

The guy cringed.

“Yep. She’s that bad,” I confirmed with a nod.

“And powerful by the sound of it.”

“More than you know, and proud of the fact.”

He parted his strong thighs that were pushing against the well-fitted fabric, and he dropped his hands between his legs as he looked out at the city before us. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“How there’s nothing quite like families to get us doing shit we don’t want to do.”

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