Semua Bab These Reckless Vows: The Billionaire's Bride: Bab 171 - Bab 180

Ava ~~~ Celeste’s excitement at seeing her daughter is not reciprocated. Bella crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes at her mother. How much of Celeste’s threat had she heard? Enough for her to step back when her mother moves forward with open arms. All the joy and anticipation of seeing Bella and Riley have been sucked out of the breezy morning air. In its place, the hostility radiating out of Bella has me drowning. I can only imagine how it feels for Celeste who it's directed at. “Bella, my baby, where have you been?” Celeste inquires, chirping as if she can’t sense the quiet resentment her daughter is emitting. “Hello, mother,” Bella says stoically. Her eyes dart to me and her voice dramatically softens as she asks, “Are you okay, Ava?” My heart warms and I start moving closer, but Celeste shoots a hand out to stop me. “Is she okay?” Celeste asks, incredulous, “You haven’t asked about your mother and you’re asking if she’s okay? What happened to family?” “Ava i

Leonel ~~~ I think a good determiner of how fucked up your life truly is is if you need a lecture from a baker who hasn’t seen you since your last failed marriage. But Mariam doesn't seem like she’s about to give me a lecture—she doesn't even seem capable of giving lectures. The only thing I’ve ever watched her do is carve raw dough to look like a woman's sculpture in less than five minutes and ice some cupcakes until they literally resembled a rainbow. She’s talented, no doubt, but does that talent extend to marriage advice? She smiles at me from the other side of the wobbly table as if she has no idea where to start with me. “Do you want bread?” She asks politely. “Bread?” I question, creasing my brows. It’s not an odd question for a baker, but it’s an odd question for the situation. Well, I suppose everything is sort of odd in this situation, “I would love some bread, sure.” Her soft smile widens, and with one clap of her hands, two women barge into the seating are

Ava ~~~ “Mrs Sinclair, you have to keep still!” Lynette exasperates, waving pins for my dress around as if she intends to stab me with them if I keep squirming. But I can’t help it. The dress she’s squeezed me into gives me barely any room to breathe, and it’s only when I shift that I’m able to find a few angles that allow me to exhale. The moment she catches me huffing out air however, she gasps like I killed her sister and immediately pins any loose fabric on the dress. “Skin tight to highlight every one of those sexy curves!” She gushed when I started wheezing. Safe to say there has never been a dress more skin-tight than the one she’s making for me. Making on my body. I don’t know what I expected from Lynette Selsar, but I was silly to think that the woman who made the queen of Spain’s dress was going to simply have me pick from a bunch of gowns. I described to her what I would like ( lace sleeves, a low neckline, a long train and flowers on my veil) and let her

Ava ~~~ “Ava, honey, you have to slow down.” Evie says, “Are you saying Leonel paid people to buy your art?” “Yes. No. I don’t know! Celeste came in and said that’s what he did!” She purses her lips, but whether in confusion or in contemplation, I’m not sure, and quite frankly I don't care. As long as I was able to divert her from the real reason for my tears, then I'm fine with whatever she thinks for now. I can't let her, Oliver, or anyone else know the doubts crippling my mind. And I certainly can't let Leonel find out. But Evie would never let me go back inside after seeing me cry without telling her what had happened, so I told her part of the truth: that I was upset about the fact that Leonel had possibly got people to buy my art. But I don't even think she believes it's true, because she answers slowly, “Okay, but we know Celeste doesn't like you so maybe she made it up?” “Ya, cause she thinks her slutty husband had some weird thing for me.” I mumur “He d

Ava ~~~ As Lynette places my finished dress in a golden box, I twist my wedding ring anxiously, watching her. “I’m sure you’re so excited to see the finished product!” She squeals. Excited really isn’t the word that currently captures my state of mind, but I’m not going to tell Lynette that, not when she made me this dress and didn’t allow me to look in the mirror so I could be pleasantly surprised right before the wedding. She’s a million times more excited than I am. She holds the box under her armpit like it’s made of real gold and comes over to kiss my cheek. “You will be the most beautiful bride.” She tells me, and all it does is fill my eyes with tears. She thinks they’re happy tears because she squeezes my hand and says, “Leonel is a lucky man.” The question is am I a lucky woman? Lynette leaves, entering her van of curiosities and driving out merrily, unaware that her client is now more unsure of marriage than ever. It was one thing when I doubted it, but if Evie