Mr Destiny Read Online Free PDF Page A

years, and maybe she had. But
     she had done so out of love, certainly not out of
pity
for her grandmother. That notion was as silly as Alex's claim that marrying Harold was just another way of proving she was
     nothing at all like her bohemian parents.
    Alex and her damn executive opinions.
    But still thinking about her beautiful and always gracious grandmother, she did wonder what Grace was doing at that very moment
     in gay Paree. Last year, Grace never would have taken a buying trip to Paris and left her in charge of the gallery for a whole
     month.
    Even Alex can't argue with that fact.
    Last year, she'd been doing what most twentysome-things in New York City were still doing every night of the week. She'd been
     cruising the night spots with her friends. Living it up. Holding on to that last bit of youth before life dictated that thirty
     had arrived and it was time to straighten up, fly right, and act like a reasonably responsible adult.
    She'd turned thirty in January, right after she'd met Harold. The fact that Harold was older (he'd be thirty-eight in November)
     had made it much easier to settle down than she'd ever imagined.
    So, forget Alex.
    Whether Alex believed it or not, she was perfectly satisfied being a responsible thirty-year-old who was now settled down.
     She was extremely fond of feeling blissfully comfortable with Harold, instead of being stuck on a bad-date merry-go-round
     playing the same sad song.
And
she was going to be wonderfully happy and delightfully content being married to comfortable, settled, organized Harold—who
     adored her completely.
    Amen.
    “Kate,” Alex yelled out. “Stop analyzing your entire life and come eat. Your food's getting cold.”
    “I'm not analyzing my entire life,” Kate yelled back, aware that Alex and Eve both knew she was lying through her teeth.
    She'd always been a master analyzer.
    The problem was, the more she analyzed the situation, the more confused she usually became—paralysis by analysis, her friends
     called it.
    Like her relationship with Harold, for instance. She'd given up on love long before she'd even met Harold. Not because she
     hadn't had her fair share of random boyfriends, because she had. She'd just never felt that zoom, bam, bop, knock-you-right-out
     connection Alex was always talking about.
    Not with any man.
    Ever.
    Maybe Harold
had
more or less steamrolled right over her from the very beginning. Maybe there had also been plenty of red flags waving in
     the back of her mind over the fact that there was no real physical attraction between them. The simple fact was, she and Harold
     were both ready for marriage. They were compatible. And they'd talked at length about what it really took for a marriage to
     be successful.
    Commitment.
    Respect.
    Devotion.
    Physical attraction would be nice, but…
    “Kate!”
    “I'm coming,” Kate yelled back.
    Frack.
    Sometimes best friends could be a real pain in the ass.
    Yet, Kate couldn't imagine her life without Alex and Eve in it.
    Besides, this time Alex was right.
    There was a carton of yummy Moo Goo waiting in the living room with her name on it. She could hear the music gearing up on
     the television, indicating the feature presentation was getting ready to start. And though she sometimes felt like strangling
     Eve—and she
always
felt like strangling Alex—spending Friday nights staying in with takeout and her two best friends had definitely become the
     highlight of her week.
    Any further life-analyzing moments could be saved for later. Later, when she'd most likely be lying in her bed all alone staring
     at her bedroom ceiling. Trying
not
to fantasize about a certain superhunky cop who claimed that
he,
not Harold, was supposed to be her freaking destiny.

    Tony waited until stomachs were full, and the conversation around the large family table at the back of his parents' restaurant
     had died down to a dull roar. Then he tapped his knife against his wineglass, signaling that he had an