Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
She shoves at my chest just as I set her on her feet, then give her a small nudge so she drops onto a seat at the foot of the bed.
I take off my jacket and toss it over the back of a nearby chair. My eyes on her, I pull off my tie and undo the top buttons of my shirt. She doesn’t move. Carefully, I unpin the veil from her hair and lift it off, setting it behind her on the bed.
She still doesn’t move, doesn’t fight me, and I’m reminded of her inexperience. She’s only twenty years old, and she’s led a very sheltered life. I’ve made sure of that.
I close my hands over her shoulders, squeezing once before I crouch down and slide my hands under the hem of her dress to slip off both her shoes at once.
“What are you doing?” she asks when I flip the soft silk of her skirt up and look at her ankle. It’s a little reddish, but not too bad, and just slightly swollen. I squeeze gently.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, looking up.
She’s watching me, expression confused, hurt, angry, all of it. She shakes her head once.
“We’ll find you other shoes to wear to the reception,” I tell her, straightening. I close my hands over her shoulders. “Are you hungry?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Thirsty?” Again, a shake of her head. “Good, then we can get to business. I asked you a question in the car. You didn’t answer. So what’s the problem, Madelena?”
“What’s the problem? You just forced me to marry you,” she spits, standing, wincing a little before shifting her weight to her uninjured foot. She’s much smaller than me without the heels. I don’t step back, so she has to crane her neck to look up at me. “That’s the problem, Santos,” she finishes with a poke of her finger to the middle of my chest.
“Did you have other prospects?” I ask, hands still on her shoulders, although I’m careful not to hurt her. It’s taking effort not to shake her, though. Did she not hear anything I said the last time we were together? Has she not seen what I’ll do to keep her safe?
“No, you made sure of that, didn’t you?” She tries to slap my hands away, but I don’t let her.
“I made sure you were safe. If I recall, all I’ve done is make sure you’re safe.”
She holds out her hand, palm up. “Right, this is you keeping me safe.”
I look down at the scar I’d left. Something dark inside me stirs. It’s a darkness that was born the night I avenged Alexia’s murder. A thing I needed, one I called forth, nurtured all the nights that followed when I committed so many more. It morphed into something else over those years. A thing that grew powerful. That, if allowed, could overwhelm me. A beast I’ve learned to keep tight control of.
I take her hand in both of mine and trace the scar with my finger, then bring her palm to my mouth and kiss it.
“I realize you may never forgive me, but I am sorry for doing that to you. For hurting you when I know you’re innocent.”
She’s taken aback, but the words are true.
“Why did he do it?” Sadness replaces the anger in her voice as her face contorts.
“Why did who do what?” I ask, confused.
“Why did my father give me away so easily? What do you have on him?”
Ah. This. It was only a matter of time before she asked.
“Why?” she repeats.
I release her, step backward, and walk to the window to watch the lighthouse’s beacon shine its blurry light over the ocean.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” I ask, turning back to face her. “He doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not asking for him. I’m asking for me. I want to know why it was so easy to sell me, because that’s what he did. He may hate me, but he hates you more. He wouldn’t have given me to you unless he was backed into a corner. What do you have on him?”
“That’s a long story, Madelena, one I’m not sure you want to hear.”
“I want to hear the truth. Give me the abbreviated version.”
I study her as she stands in her wedding dress on this, our wedding night. “Another time,” I tell her, moving toward her.
“Tell me,” she says, looking up at me.
“Tonight is to learn other secrets, Little Kitty.” I reach behind her to pull the pin that holds her hair at the nape of her neck. Once freed, it spills over my hand and down her back in thick, dark waves. “I was wrong when I told you that you were pretty,” I start, watching her eyes grow wider, more confused. “You’re more. You’re beautiful.”
The compliment flusters her. I am reminded once more that she’s not used to hearing them.