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)
The bed dips, causing me to stir from my sleep. When I open my eyes, the room is mostly dark, but the city lights illuminate the surrounding walls. He smells like shower gel. It’s a scent I have to admit is appealing. Staying as still as possible, I wait for him to settle in and fall asleep.
“We have a ball next week. You are being fitted for a dress tomorrow. Be up and ready by nine a.m.”
So, I wasn’t sly enough.
“How did you know I was awake?” I ask, my voice a bit above a whisper.
“Your breathing changed.”
I nod, and it’s silent for a while. But my headspace is suddenly filled with curiosity again.
“The club you own. You said it’s a sex club?”
Nico is smart. Arrogant and blatantly cocky, but he is smart.
“I do. Why?”
I shrug, that ping happening in my gut again. There is no way I will let him make me feel like I’m not good enough to have a faithful husband. No. No way in fucking hell.
“Curious. That’s all.”
He releases a deep sigh.“Emelia. You drive me up the fucking wall. In fact, I have the thought to call off this deal every second you act like you did earlier. But… I am not fucking any other woman.”
There is a sudden ease that comes over me, and I would physically kick my own ass if I could for being relieved.
Relieved, but not ignorant.
“You don’t have to be such a prick. I didn’t want to marry you either. I would rather be physically tortured than deal with you.” I scoot closer to the edge of the bed.
“Coming home to you is going to be a fucking delight every night, isn’t it?”
I debate what to say. Finally, I release a big sigh. “I will wave the white flag now. What good will it do if we’re just constantly at each other’s throat?”
“Good. It would do nothing but make this that much more unbearable. Go to bed, Emelia.”
“Don’t you think we should talk? Get to know one another a bit?”
“What do you want to know?” He blows out a breath as he moves a bit.
I make sure to keep my back turned to him. It feels safe. Keeps the vulnerability at a minimum.“Do you have any hobbies? Other than sex clubs, weapons, drugs, and murder.”
This has a small laugh leaving him, and I smile at the sound. It’s warm, his laugh. It’s the deep kind, the one that comes from low in the chest.
“You think that’s all I do?”
“Isn’t it? Tell me the last time you did something morally ethical in your day-to-day?”
He doesn’t speak for a moment.
“Fair. But being moral doesn’t really fit in with my lifestyle. Or maybe I find what I do very ethical to my own morals.”
Rolling my eyes, I scoff.“That is such a mafia response. Hiding behind that wall of yours seems very lonely. You should think about lowering it. Get some hobbies. Oh! Maybe even some friends,” I tease.
“I have friends, Emelia.”
“Henchmen aren’t friends; they’re employees.” I can practically feel the eye roll he probably just gave me.
“No one needs friends. Especially when they have a wife like you. I’m too busy just trying to cope and live with you. There is no room for more.”
This has me turning toward him. “That’s rude. You have no idea who I am or what I’m like. I could be the most interesting person you’ve ever met.”
“Or the most stubborn.” He looks at me, and I see his position now, the city lights helping my eyes adjust to the darkness. He looks comfortable, relaxed, and his body… wow. He is shirtless, the sheet pulled up to just beneath his belly button. The flesh exposed is taught and defined with some scarring and, surprisingly, only a few tattoos.
“Stubborn, or just the only person who won’t put up with your shit attitude?” Taking my focus off him, I get back to my original topic.
“I don’t have an attitude, Emelia. I have authority. Don’t mistake it.”
“Okay, stubborn, or thinks your authority needs to be knocked down a few pegs?”
Dishing it right back, he smirks. We aren’t fighting, and the banter is something I don’t think he would ever have with anyone else.
Aren’t I the lucky one?
Not.
“I don’t need friends. You are stubborn. And I feel morally sound. Anything else?” He changes course.
Pursing my lips and thinking hard, I decide to keep harping on him, but I change the question.
“Well, Nico, thank you for asking about me. I’m Emelia. I like to read. Sometimes, I like nature—if it doesn’t bite me. And I love ice skating,” I admit.
“Ice skating? Why that?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. It's ice skating. You kill people for a living. I think you take the trophy for shock factor, my friend.”
“I’m just curious. Why skating?”
“Because it makes me feel like I’m…” I think about this. What’s the best way to describe freedom to a man who has never had to worry about it his entire life. The ice is the only place I ever thrived—the only safety net I could fall into when I needed someone to catch me. “Free,” I come out with it. Sugar-coating it seems pointless and, quite frankly, unnecessary.