Tangling the Knot

Chapter Four

- Boston -

I'd expect nothing less of the Vanderwood's new home in South Miami.

The estate is worth 4.5 million dollars—a value I would make if I were reincarnated into a piggy bank for the next five lives. With this kind of money, I might be able to offload all my problems to someone else who can manage to handle them.

"When did he get that?" I posed, parking my car behind a flashy candy apple-red Ferrari.

Alexa unbuckled her seat belt and pierced the Florida license plate. Even behind her Prada shades, I can spy on her lack of enthusiasm about being here. I guess we're in the same boat.

"Beats me," she answered.

We step out of the car and I convene irresistibly towards the supercar. There are five other luxury vehicles alone and we have yet to tour the remainder of the property.

I inspect the tires and marvel at the finest performance details of the red and black paint. There's a shortlist of I'd snag in a heartbeat if my wallet wasn't playing hard to get. And the Ferrari? No doubt that it's podium-finishing in the top three.

"This thing is sick."

Alexa pulls up, sliding her sunglasses past the bridge of her nasal bone.

"It's hideous. What a waste of money," she fired.

"A waste of money?" My jaw is practically on the floor. "Are you for real? I'd say this beauty is worth every single penny."

"You don't get it. My dad is obsessed with McLarens. He never shuts up about getting the latest model. So what's he doing splashing cash on a Ferrari?"

I give a casual shrug, playing it cool.

"Who knows? Maybe he had a change of heart?" I was listing plenty of options as to why someone would switch to the Italian car brand.

Approaching the front entrance, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure through the glass—Rita Vanderwood. Alexa's stepmother. And let me tell you, the low groan that tumbled from Alexa's mouth at one glimpse of Rita was nothing short of hilarious.

The door flung open in a matter of seconds. Rita lets out an ear-piercing squeal.

"Oh my God! Look who's actually on time!" Her southern accent was thicker than molasses.

Rita is a real-life Barbie doll.

A character, to say the least.

She was easy on the eyes—Mr. Vanderwood had good taste when it came to women. Out of all the hot tamales in Florida, Rita wasn't a bad pick. Anyhow, this Kansas-born twenty-nine-year-old body came across as rubber and glossy like those mannequins outside of H&M.

In addition, the accent, the hair, and her attitude (according to Alexa) felt faker than the injections in her lips as nicely as I can put it.

Rita reaches out to hug both of us, squeezing us as if we were long-lost relatives. Alexa stiffens and keeps her arms glued to her side. My fianceé loves physical affection—it's just who she is. Though, if dodging Rita is a part of the plan, she'd sure as hell be doing wonders.