Forget the summer I turned pretty…that was the summer I got hips, acne, and utterly humiliated by Aaron Richmond.
This summer? This is the summer I had to marry the bastard.
When I walk down the aisle towards my enemy, all to save the Coleman family fortune, I shouldn’t give in to my wounded inner 14-year old-self. I should smile, blink up at him prettily, and declare to have and to hate…
Errhold.
Too bad I’m Granny Madge’s namesake.
As soon as I begrudgingly say, I do, I toss three tiers of wedding cake on my new husband, kick him in the balls, and down a whole bottle of champagne.
He retaliates by dropping me face-first in his foyer after carrying me over the marital threshold.
I respond in a mature manner by eating a bag of chips in his bed and letting my cat puke on his pillow.
