FREDWARD HELPED ME INTO HIS CAR, BEING VERY CAREFUL OF THE WISPS of silk and chiffon on my dress, the flowers he'd just pinned into my elaborately styled curls, and my bulky cast. He ignored the angry set of my mouth, as usual.
When he had me settled, he got in the driver's seat and headed back out the long, narrow drive.
"At what point exactly are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked grumpily. I really hated surprises. And chiffon. And he knew that.
"I'm shocked that you haven't figured it out yet. It's like you're stupid or something." He threw a mocking smile in my direction, and my breath caught in my throat. Would I ever get used to his perfection at being an asshole?