Chapter 1 - THE RADIANCE OF A TOTAL DISASTER
The ground was cold,
but my face was on fire,
and every single nerve in my body was screaming at me to dissolve into the hardwood floorboards.
I lay there,
a tangled mess of plaid flannel and oversized cotton,
listening to the silence that follows a truly spectacular social suicide.
Theodore Ashford,
the man who had occupied ninety percent of my teenage daydreams,
was standing less than three feet away from my discarded grandmother glasses.
I could see his shoes,
polished to a mirror shine,
mocking my mismatched socks and the rubber soles of my stray flip-flop.
“Clare,”
my father’s voice boomed,
thick with an equal mix of disappointment and genuine confusion,
“are you hurt,
or are you just planning to live down there now?”
I didn't answer immediately,
mostly because I was busy praying for a localized earthquake to swallow the Montgomery estate.
When those strong,
calloused hands wrapped around my upper arms,
I felt a jolt of electricity that was far more painful than the fall.
Theodore lifted me as if I weighed no more than a feather,
steadying me until my shaky legs found their purchase.
His scent hit me then—sandalwood,
expensive leather,
and something uniquely Theo that I hadn't smelled in nearly a decade.
“Easy there,”
he murmured,
and his voice was like velvet sliding over broken glass.
I finally looked up,
my vision a bit blurry without the giant frames,
and saw the amusement dancing in his deep blue eyes.
He wasn't disgusted.
He wasn't running for the hills.
He was looking at me as if I were a particularly interesting puzzle he intended to solve.
“You always did know how to make an entrance,”
he added,
a small smirk tugging at the corner of his perfectly sculpted mouth.
I scrambled to pull my oversized hoodie down,
trying to hide the fact that my pajama pants had a small hole near the pocket.
My father cleared his throat,
the sound echoing like a gunshot in the tense room.
“Theodore was just telling me about his recent acquisition in London,”
Dad said,
trying to pivot back to a world where his daughter didn't look like a swamp creature.
I reached down,
fumbling for my glasses,
but Theo was faster.
He picked them up,
inspected the thick lenses with a curious expression,
and handed them back to me.
“I think these belong to a very stylish octogenarian,”
he joked softly,
leaning in so only I could hear.
I snatched them from him,
shoving them onto my face,
which only made the situation worse because now I could see his handsome face in high definition.
He was breathtaking.
His jawline was sharper,
his shoulders were broader,
and the way his tailored suit hugged his frame made my deliberate "ugly" outfit feel like a crime against humanity.
“I... I was just experimenting with a new look,”
I stammered,
my voice cracking like a teenager's.
“It’s called ‘post-apocalyptic chic’,”
I lied,
straightening my spine and trying to regain some shred of dignity.
Theo chuckled,
a deep sound that vibrated in my chest.
“Well,”
he said,
tilting his head,
“it’s certainly a bold choice for a Friday night.”
My father sighed,
rubbing his temples as if a migraine were forming.
“Clare,
go change into something... human,”
he commanded,
but Theo held up a hand.
“Actually,
Arthur,”
Theo said,
never taking his eyes off mine,
“I find it refreshing.”
“In fact,”
he continued,
“I was hoping Clare would join me for dinner exactly as she is.”
My heart stopped.
My father’s jaw dropped.
And for the first time in my life,
I realized that my brilliant plan to ruin the evening had backfired in the most terrifyingly beautiful way possible.
I looked down at my socks,
then back at the millionaire who held my heart in his hands,
and realized the night was only just beginning.
He wasn't letting me off the hook.
He was pulling me in.
And I,
the girl in the bird's nest hair and the cleaning-rag pants,
May you like
was absolutely,
utterly doomed.
