Status Updates From Destitute Until the Italian...

The hero reports his hormones are "cruising along nicely." What's sexier than that?

‘She was pregnant. Something she had never envisioned as even a possibility.’ ….WTF. Sure, including condoms in romance is about as romantic as a root canal—there’s a huge difference between RL & fictional sex—but WHY WERE YOU NOT ON THE PILL?! Duuuuur. What’d you think would happen after nonstop boinking for weeks on end?! She wasn’t an ignorant virgin, either, so she’s got no excuse. 🙄

‘But he would not—could not—rush her. Or pressurize her. It must come from her, the decision that he so wanted her to make. It must be right for her—completely right.’ ….It must also be dull—completely dull, because who reads a harlequin for this kind of beta woobie waffle? Show some freakin’ initiative, bro. 😑🥱😴

‘Giavanna spat a word at Lana in Italian. It was coarse, & ugly, tho Lana had no idea what the girl had just called her. A second later she had no more time to ponder. She felt a sudden cold splash on her face & neck & realized, in a moment of disbelief, that Giavanna had thrown the contents of her champagne flute all over her.’ ….But sophisticated Lana shows up the whiny teenage OW with class & dignity.

‘For a moment—just a moment—he found himself wondering what his parents would have thought of what he had done…marrying a stranger for the reasons he had. His mouth twisted. His father would have approved his choice of blonde bombshell. His mother—he stopped his thoughts. He knew what his mother would have thought, & he didn’t want to hear her voice in his head. But he heard it all the same.’

I like that the heroine is suddenly excited because this MOC allows her to take a year-long break from the modeling circuit, & thus order stuff she couldn’t allow herself to eat while strutting the catwalk. Forget that tasteless rabbit food—gimme chicken in marsala cream & plenty of butter on the green beans, she says. 😂

—“Whatever you or I choose to call it, I am prepared, should you agree to spend the next twelve months as my wife, to pay you a sum that will entirely clear the outstanding debt your ex imposed on you.”
—His eyes met hers. His were unreadable. Hers were not. They had widened, & in them was a mixture of disbelief & something quite different.

—He lifted his glass of champagne to her.
—“Don’t tell me…” he said, & his voice was a drawl. He inserted an edge of humor into it. “You’re a model.”
—For a second she did not respond. Then— “Don’t tell me,” she echoed. “You’re a money man.” Deliberately she echoed his gesture too, lifting her glass to him.

….Burn. 🥂