Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I return to the chair and pick up my cup as he takes a few steps of alcohol. He sighs, sinking further against the plush cushions at his back. “It turns out you are not an easy woman to protect.”
“Thank you?”
The beginnings of a smile stir his lips, but it never solidifies. “What do you want to know?”
“Only what I asked already,” I remind him. My heart's beating like crazy. Am I really going to get answers, finally?
“Obviously, I brought you here to keep you away from my father's property for a while. Obviously, someone knows you were there, and they could easily send another assassin after you once it becomes clear their first mission failed.” He sips the whiskey again. “I'm sure once it's clear they're not going to hear anything else from that bitch, they'll try again.”
“Why would they send anyone after me at all? What have I done?”
“That's unclear. I'm sure you've done nothing but exist.”
That isn’t exactly comforting. I draw my feet up on the chair, covering them with the ends of the robe. Suddenly, I feel cold.
“We'll spend a little time here, out of sight. Hotel security is tight. I've already instructed them not to let anyone up to the room without my permission first.”
If I have to be locked away somewhere new, I could think of much worse places. At least I have that going for me.
He stares into the glass, then begins swirling what's left of the whiskey. It's almost hypnotic, watching the funnel that forms. “We have a much more complicated history than I've ever shared with you, Siân.”
“More complicated than the way your father called for my family's destruction?”
“My father.” There's a growl in his voice that doesn't bode well. “The figure that's loomed largest in my life from the day I was born. There's never been any pleasing him. Never any understanding him. I've watched him make promises to countless people, and I've watched him break just as many of those promises. I've watched him smile and clap men on the back and thank them for their friendship, then cross them. Sometimes not even hours later. He's a master manipulator. The ultimate sociopath.”
Having spent even a limited amount of time in the man's presence, I have no problem believing this.
“He taught me from a young age to say one thing when I mean another. How to be convincing. How to disconnect my true feelings and beliefs when it comes to handling friend and foe alike. Nothing matters more than getting what we want and protecting what's already ours. No friendship is greater than that. No other human life means more.” There’s an emptiness in his words, flat and cold. He might as well be reading from a book. That's how much emotion he's putting into this.
His gaze darts up from the glass, eyes meeting mine. “We were promised to each other a long time ago.”
“We were what?”
“Our fathers agreed to the match.” He smirks at my reaction. “A match made in heaven, it was not.”
“So we were supposed to be married all this time? You mean, if he hadn't murdered them, you and I would be married by now?” No matter how I say it, my brain doesn’t want to accept it.
“There wouldn’t have been a choice in the matter. That's how these things are determined among the families.”
“But I thought my father loved me.”
“It has nothing to do with love. Even if you were the most precious thing in his life, he would still have used you to secure an alliance with my father. And he would have known you were well taken care of because otherwise, the alliance would suffer. I’m certain from his point of view, it was the only way to go.”
“Without asking me about it?”
“You’re thinking as an American and a civilian at that. For families like ours, emotion isn't brought into it.” He savors another sip, leaving me hanging before he reminds me, “You were a child, too. Don’t forget that. It's only business.”
I'm sick of that word. I'm also sick of knowing he's not giving me the full story. He only thinks I can't see he's being evasive. He won't look me in the eye, and the fingers of the hand not holding the glass tap rhythmically against his knee.
“When I think back on Dad, though, all I remember is happy times. He was loving and sweet. He paid attention to me. He made me feel special and important.”
“I'm sure he did. You'll have to tell me sometime how that feels since I certainly never experienced it for myself.”
“I'm just saying. What you’re describing feels so far from what I knew.”
“Again, there's a personal life, and there's business. I'm sure he knew how to separate the two for your sake.”
“While your father couldn't, I guess?”