Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
I couldn’t say a thing. All I could do was stare at the ring sitting on my finger.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say something? Preferably ‘yes’?” he prodded, tugging on my hands where he had them captured with his own.
“I don’t know what to say.” But I did. I knew what I wanted to say in my heart, more than anything, but I didn’t think it was the right time. “This just seems so... fast.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think this has been fast at all. We have inched our way here at a very slow speed. But after your accident or what I still feel was an attack,” he took a deep breath, “It reminded me that life is short. We have to live for the moment. I want to do that with you, Raychel. I want us to be husband and wife and live this life together, make a home and fill every single wall with your paintings.”
This was everything I had ever wanted... deep down. But could I just marry him as if we didn’t have the one major roadblock getting in the way?
“This isn’t about Dasha anymore,” he said quietly, once again reading my mind.
“But it is. It will always be.”
He shook his head. “No, Raychel. Not anymore. This is about you and me. This is about the life we both deserve to live. I respected and loved your father so much. You know I did. But that was a long time ago, and we can’t keep letting that darkness in our past get in the way of what we have. And I believe we have something really good. Really special. I think he would have understood. If he knew just how deeply I feel for you. I believe he would recognize that what we have is special.”
I nodded in agreement. “I agree. It is.”
“Then marry me.”
“What will people say? I’m the daughter of a Bratva member. You are a rich billionaire tycoon. I’m so much younger. We have enemies...”
Anthony ran his fingers through his hair, clearly becoming frustrated. “I don’t care what people say or think. I only care what you say and that you say yes.”
“Can—can I have some time?” I asked, and it was the hardest thing I’d ever had to say. “I just want to recover some more, and see how we get on together when we’re doing more than seeing each other occasionally. I just need some time... to think, to accept what could be.”
Anthony looked disappointed even though he was trying to hide it. “Sure you can. It’s a big decision, I know. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
I nodded slowly in agreement. I reached for the ring to take it off and give it back to him, but he prevented me, putting his hand over mine.
“No, you wear it. It looks beautiful on your finger.” It made my hand seem that much smaller and more delicate from the sheer size of the rock. “Only give it back to me if your answer is no.”
* * *
Raychel
I recovered quickly, considering. I had no choice, really. Anthony wouldn’t have it any other way. He hovered over me for several weeks after I had gotten out of the hospital, until one day I asked, pointedly, as he tried to convince me to eat another helping of the wonderful dinner he had made, “Don’t you have a crime empire or something to run?”
Anthony had grinned. He’d been doing more of that lately—only I didn’t know if he was generally feeling better about life, or if I was just around him more so I saw it more often than I had.
“Don’t you worry about my job. I have my men working for me. They have it under control.” He frowned down at me. “Are you trying to get rid of me already?”
“Yes. If I keep hanging around you, I’m going to end up weighing more than an elephant.”
He snorted. “Not likely. A stiff breeze would blow you over, casts and all.”
“It would not,” I answered indignantly. I could feel myself gaining weight as I lay there.
“Would too—stop arguing with me, or I’ll take you over my knee right now.”
I gave him a hearty raspberry, secure in knowing that he wasn’t about to lay a single finger on me until I was fully healed.
“You’re getting a might big for your britches there, young lady.” His threat gave me a tingle between my legs. I had grown to love the term ‘young lady’ when he’d use it, which I had found to be often. There was something so decadent about those two simple words.
“That’s what I told you! I am getting too big for my britches! Stop trying to feed me like I’m eating for two, or I won’t fit into any of my clothes, not that you’re letting me fit into them anyway...”