She Woke Up Married Read Online Free PDF Page B

the various districts and show you the ropes. We’ll have to tour all the Irish pubs, starting with Dolan’s. I know Stephen would love to hear you sing. Paris says you’ve got the voice of an angel.”
    “She did?” Turner was surprised to hear that Paris had said anything about him. “I’d be extremely appreciative to be given a tour of the city. I don’t know why people think New Yorkers are so rude. I’ve met nothing but friendly people so far.”
    Anton switched on the clippers. “You’ve seen Paris in the morning?”
    “Yes. Well. There is that.”
    “Exactly.”
    “She has her good moments, and I’ll have to catch one. I’ve caught one before. I’m going tostay till the job is accomplished. I married her. I came here to settle things with my wife, so I’ll just have to deal with whatever comes up.”
    Anton stared into the mirrored eyes of Turner Pruitt and saw a brave, brave man staring back at him .
     
    Not only did Turner Pruitt have some nerve but also he was a complete fool to think she’d change her mind about this little marriage thing. However, she did have a very important question about condoms to ask him, so in some ways it was fortuitous that he had arrived in New York. It saved her the trouble of tracking him down in Vegas, which she’d been considering over the last few weeks.
    After wiping off the green mint mud, Paris brushed her hair out with gusto, thinking bad thoughts about Turner at every stroke. Didn’t he know she’d make a terrible wife? She was a bitch, plain and simple. She had terrible PMS, she didn’t sleep well or eat well, she drank too much—before she’d reformed on that habit, and that made her even bitchier, because a nice glass of wine would sure take the edge off for an hour or two. She was also lazy and self-centered.
    For heaven’s sake, how could he even have considered marrying her?
    And worst of all, he knew all this about her from before. He really was a fool, plain and simple. He’d been a romantic-headed songwritinggeeky-looking preacher’s kid in high school, and now he was a romantic-headed Elvis-impersonating preaching, great-looking man. Someone better talk some sense into that man.
    Paris’s brush stopped in midair. She stared into the mirror at her thirty-year-old face and wailed. It was kind of involuntary. A sobby sound just rose out of her middle and escaped through her mouth. She sat down on the dressing room chair, in front of the mirror, and bawled. Big piles of Kleenex started forming on the counter as she mopped up the waterworks and blew her nose repeatedly.
    She’d never planned on getting married ever. Ever, ever, ever. She was not the marrying kind. She could not be any man’s wife. Besides that, her PMS was just beyond horrible today. She just had to start her period, right now, today, this minute. She was seriously overdue, and every time she thought about what might be the real reason she felt so rotten lately she just freaked out, so she’d stopped thinking about it.
    The door to the dressing room flew open. Through her blurry eyes she saw Turner and Anton staring at her.
    “Are you okay?” Anton asked.
    “Shut up and shut the door. Leave me alone,” Paris sobbed.
    “Paris, honey.” Turner took two steps in her direction.
    “Don’t you honey me, Turner Pruitt. Damn you for marrying me! Get out. ”
    Turner wisely backed out of the room. Anton was already out. They closed the door quietly behind them.
    “I’ve never seen that girl cry in all the years I’ve known her. Ever. She usually just yells at people when she’s got PMS.”
    “Wow.” Turner scratched his head, puzzled. He’d been doing that a lot lately. ’Course he’d just had his hair cut, and it felt odd. As odd as being married to Paris.
    Turner resumed his seat in the salon chair. Anton resumed his position behind him, scissors in hand, and got back to work on Turner’s trim. This was some setup—a hair salon right in the modeling agency