Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter #2) - Melanie Martins Page 0,35
girls at my school were obsessed with boys, like everywhere else.”
To my surprise, Margaret jumps in. “I’ve always said to my daughters, if you find yourself in a group of friends who only speak about boys, then you are in the wrong group.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dad interposes, and I’m not surprised by his statement.
“With all due respect to these fine gentlemen who are here, my daughters had better things to do than waste their mental energy on a bunch of dicks.”
“Mom!” Julia exclaims. “What was that?” But we all break out in laughter. I’ve never in my entire life imagined Margaret saying the D-word. Oh gosh, this must be the funniest dinner I’ve ever been to.
“I totally agree, Margaret,” Emma replies. “Dicks are a waste of time. At Loyola, girls were constantly swooning over a bunch of jerks. It was pathetic. Right, Petra?” I huff at her blatant sarcasm. After all, Emma knows I had a crush on James since the first day he spoke to me. And it was, as she said, pretty pathetic.
“Right,” I mutter.
Then my attention goes to Julia, and, after exchanging a look, she asks Alex and me, “So, do you guys have a date in mind for the wedding?”
Alex doesn’t waste time saying, “We haven’t—”
But I cut him off just as fast. “Yes, we do.”
“We do?” he repeats, squinting at me.
“Yep,” I tell him. And putting on my most innocent face, I add, “I’ve been thinking about it, and, um, I’ve got the perfect date for our wedding.”
“Oh…” Alex is left speechless. “And what date is that?”
Then I look at Julia and announce, “The fifth of December, on my nineteenth birthday.”
“What?!” Dad blurts out. “Are you sure?”
“Are you sure about that?” Alex asks me in a discreet, low voice, repeating my dad’s question.
“Why not?” I match his low tone, and, wetting my lips, I add, “Don’t you think it’s a meaningful date?”
His lips part in astonishment, and I know he’s picturing exactly the same as I. “Of course it is.”
As we smile at each other, his gaze drops to my lips, and I wish for once he’d kiss me in public.
“That’s a wonderful date,” Margaret praises, breaking our intimate moment. “A winter wedding is perfect. We have less than three months, but I’m sure we can manage.”
Alex’s attention shifts back to his mother, and, letting out a sigh, I do the same. At this rate, I guess he will only kiss me in public at the altar.
“We can speak to Bishop De Korte and have the ceremony at St. John’s Cathedral,” Sebastian suggests. “That’s where we got married. It’s the most beautiful cathedral in the Netherlands.”
“That’s a great idea,” Julia praises. “I’m sure you’re gonna love it. We can organize the whole wedding for you if you want.”
My eyes widen instantly. “Really?”
“Of course. We will hire the same people who planned ours. They are super professional—you just have to tell them what your preferences and wishes are, and they’ll make it happen.”
“Um, as long as the groom attends, I’m good,” I tease, looking at my fiancé.
“Not sure if they can make it happen, but they will try,” Sebastian replies back.
A quick laugh escapes us, and, thanks to Sebastian’s comment, my fiancé puts an arm around me and gives me a kiss. I just wish it would’ve been on the lips, not on the head.
Chapter 7
Bedford Hills, September 11, 2020
Emma Hasenfratz
Over the past nineteen years, very few people have managed to make an impact on my life. When you have a fifty-million-dollar trust fund, believe me, most people you meet are quite shallow, boring, clichéd, and devoid of any interesting personality. All they care about is your money or the lifestyle you can provide. Petra was the exception. She’s always been weird and reserved enough to keep me—and everyone else at Loyola—interested in getting to know her.
Today, though, I’ve met someone else: a noble woman.
A married noble woman.
Yara Van Lawick.
She’s stern and formal, like a general in the army. And unlike her sisters, I haven’t seen her either laughing or giggling during the whole dinner. Her presence is unmistakable though, and her pale face is as immaculately cold as the marble walls standing in my parents’ house.
“How did you two meet?” Yara asks. And her Dutch accent makes my lips curve up.
“Oh, we went to the same school together,” Petra tells her.
“I kind of figured that out. But how did you become best friends?” she insists. “You two seem to be quite the opposite.” Petra