Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
"Yes, that's what War told me." Rochelle is now picking up a fancy plate that has a gold etching on it. I bet it's real.
"War told you?" How the heck did he know that?
"Yes. Isn't that what you told him?" A slow smile forms on her mouth. "During your late-night stroll?" Heat rushes to my face thinking about the other night. Warren had kissed me. The kiss was unlike him. It was soft, and he took his time.
"You're blushing," Mom points out.
"Oh, so did more than talking of wedding plans happen?" I don't think there had been much wedding talk at all. "Interesting." Rochelle's brows pull together as if in deep thought about that.
"What is interesting?" I ask, wanting to know. It could give me a peek into Warren, who is far more complicated than I realized. The man can come off so cold, but beneath that is a whole other side to him. I’m trying not to get my hopes up again, but I have a sneaking suspicion that maybe I was right about him all along. There is another side to him that he doesn’t show people.
Maybe the softer, more open side of him is Warren, and the cold, unfeeling, stoic side to him is War. A name he doesn't want me calling him while everyone else does.
"I've never seen my son interested in a woman before."
"He doesn't have much of a choice." I hand her the iPad back. "These are my favorite of the flowers." I try to steer the conversation back to the wedding, not wanting to expose a side of Warren that he may not want others to see.
"Oh, these are beautiful." My mom nods in agreement with Rochelle. "War might be getting ready for a wife, but that doesn't mean he'd be so invested in getting things ready for you. Hell, he told all of us to stay out of your garden."
“My garden?” I shake my head. “It’s not mine.” Is that why he told her she couldn’t get flowers from the garden the other day?
“You might not call it yours, but your fiancé does.” Rochelle shrugs. “You see these?” She shows my mom the iPad. They start discussing place settings. There is a lot that goes into one of these weddings, but then again, this is all for show.
I pull out my phone to text Marks. I have to open a special app Marks had me download forever ago to send messages. I thought it was strange at first, but the more I got to know her, the more I understood it. She thinks everyone is watching everything. The Signal app makes it impossible for anyone to be able to ever read your messages.
I tell her about Rochelle's comments. Marks is not into weddings or men unless it's killing them in-game or within the pages of one of our books; she is still down for the tea. I had to fill her in a lot. It beyond shocked her when I told her I was getting married and to whom.
She knows some about my living situation. I don't provide all the details or use full names. Never once have I said the Marino last name. I don't think she'd know it, but I'd rather keep my distance from her and it.
Marks: He knew your favorite colors.
Marks: How?
That's her question? I more wanted to know if he's into getting married to me. Which is a stupid question because I'd overheard what he thought of the wedding already, so I don't ask that question.
Me: I must wear it a lot?
Marks: You wear all kinds of colors. In fact, if I go off the clothes you make, I would say your favorite colors are pink and white.
That is true.
I should stop trying to look into every small thing when it comes to Warren. It was two days ago that I last saw him. He’s been gone. Not so much of a peep from him. I bet it’s something I should get used to, him coming and going, and me having no idea where or when he’ll be back. That, I can’t ask either.
I tuck my phone back away when my mom asks me a question, not wanting to be rude. For the next two hours, I respond to countless questions.
“Ladies.” My head jerks up at the sound of Warren's voice. He’s here. I can’t help the butterflies that form in my stomach at the sound of his voice.
He avoids making eye contact with me, looking in every direction but mine. I guess I’m invisible all of a sudden. Whatever. I pull my phone back out. My mom and Rochelle respond with a hi. I keep my lips firmly pressed together, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
“How goes the planning?” He steps farther into the library, I see out of the corner of my eye.