Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“You will never talk to me like that again. Do not play games with me, Emelia. I will not tolerate it. If you want to attempt to have some type of enjoyment or freedom in your new life, you will treat me with more respect,” he grits out through his teeth. “Now, put on the act and let’s get through this goddamn reception.”
Angry tears well in my eyes, the ones you get when you are overly furious but can’t do anything. I’m not sad. Or afraid. I’m mad. Raging. Fuming with pure hatred.
“How romantic. Why don’t you attempt to look like you can be a decent fucking human?” I give it right back.
“Gah, fuck!” he hollers, turning and punching the frame of the entryway. “Enough, Emelia. This is your life now! Stop acting like a child and fulfill your responsibilities!”
So stupid of me to even get upset. My responsibilities, yes. His demise. Soon, I will never have to look this man in the eyes if I just do the job I dreaded at first.
My demeanor changes, and I know he thinks it’s all him, but really, it's me. All me. The holder of his fate. “Lead the way, husband,” I say snidely, and he runs his hand through his hair, then rights his tuxedo jacket.
“Good. Let’s go. I don’t have to be the enemy here, Emelia. If you obey and respect me, I can do the same. So stop making me angry any chance you get. We can work together. You can be the queen, or you can be the downfall of your own narrative. You decide.”
He takes my hand, and I let his words resonate. If I want him to let me in on all the things I need to know, I do need to start playing the part. And now, if I want to keep Damian safe, I will have to be the doting, submissive wife.
It’s temporary. This will only be temporary, I remind myself as I plaster on a fake smile and make my way into the ballroom.
Everyone stands and welcomes us, and I skim over the guests before stopping dead in my tracks.
Damian.
He sits at a table toward the head of the room.
No. He can’t be here. How could he come to this after leaving me behind?
He looks just as handsome as I remember. Now thirty, he looks no different than the twenty-seven-year-old who was head-over-heels for me. Who I loved in return.
Who abandoned me.
I grasp impulsively onto Nico, and he looks down at me.
“What is it?” he asks, sounding annoyed.
“Nothing. I just got a cramp in my leg. That’s all,” I lie.
He stops and then drops to his haunches, and I gulp.
“What are you doing?” I ask, gasping when he lifts my dress a bit and rubs my leg.
“Putting on a show. We have to convince the masses, Emelia.” He takes his calloused hands and runs them up my legs, gaining hoots and whistles from the made men all over the room.
I look over to Damian and see how angry his expression is. He tightens his fists at his sides, and I decide the best way to pay him back for leaving me is to lean in to the show. Put on an act that he will feel in his heart for years to come.
It’s only fair.
I loved him, and I wouldn't be here if he would have fulfilled his promise of getting me out. Regardless of how much I miss him, it doesn't mean anything when I’m now married to a man I hate. This is just as much his fault as anyone else's.
Looking down at Nico, I bite my lip and laugh as his strong, thick, vein-lined hands run up my leg, and when he reaches my thigh, he wraps his finger around my garter and pulls it down. He licks his lips, and if I weren’t aware of the act he’s putting on, I would say he’s enjoying this. And something in the way he looks at me and smiles…? I hate that the arousal between my legs builds, and a dull ache forms.
Shit. No. I can’t let his charm and looks get in the way of what he really is. A terrible man.
Standing, he tosses the garter into the crowds of men at the tables. I peek over at Damian, and he shakes his head at me.
That’s when my chin is grabbed.
“You invited him to our wedding? Not a smart move, wife.” Nico leans in and kisses me. It’s not like the altar kiss, no. This one has a purpose. He bruises my lips, bites and nips, and I let our tongues slide against one another. He tastes like toothpaste and a new flavor I’ve never tasted before. Him. His flavor—and it pains me to admit—tastes like lust and desire, and I give into it. But he puts an abrupt stop to our kiss, and I lose my footing a bit, nearly stumbling forward.