Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
He stops on the pavement, takes the mug from Mr. Laurent, and puts it in my hand. “Chamomile tea with honey. It’s warm.”
I’m grateful for his foresight as I drink the hot, sweet tea. It warms my stomach, helping to dispel some of the cold. I’m thirsty and my throat is still sore. The relief when I swallow is instantaneous. Even though my pride doesn’t want me to take any comfort from him, I’m too exhausted and frozen to argue with myself or to refuse.
I take small sips, trying to make the treat last as Angelo walks me to a waiting car. He opens the backdoor and helps me inside. The interior is warm. The engine is running, and the heater is on. A driver turns in his seat and greets me in French. I don’t manage more than a nod.
Angelo shuts the door. He exchanges a few words with Mr. Laurent before coming around the car and getting in beside me. Once he’s buckled first my safety belt and then his, the driver takes off.
I lean my head on the backrest and turn my face toward the window, noting the lights that blur into a continuous line as we speed toward the city, but I don’t take in the sight. Not really.
“Sabella.” Angelo grips my face, the fingers of his large hand splayed over my cheeks as he forces me to look at him. “Did you tell them anything?”
“You can relax.” I sag deeper into the seat, exhaustion stealing over me. “You’re safe.”
The muscles in his jaw bunch, creating hollows under his high cheekbones in the shadows that play over his handsome features under the fast-shifting lights. Such a beautiful face. An angel’s face. I can never forget he has the heart of a devil.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says, brushing a thumb over my jaw. “I had no idea Lavigne was going to play that dirty.”
“It’s over.”
I tremble when I think about the lie. It’ll never be over. Not for me. Lieutenant Lavigne and Angelo have one thing in common. They’re both determined. Neither of them is going to let me go. This is only the beginning. I try to pull free, but Angelo doesn’t let me escape his touch or his piercing gaze.
Holding fast, he stares into my eyes. Too deeply. Seeing too much. “I should kill him.” Then softer, more seriously, “I will.”
Stiffening at the sound of that word on his lips, that single, small word that can decide a man’s fate, I glance in the driver’s direction. Angelo throws that threat around as if he’s a god, as if it’s his right to say who lives and who dies.
“Don’t worry.” Angelo finally sets me free. “He’s on my payroll.”
The driver, he means.
My face burns where his fingers branded me. “Nothing happened.” I finish the last of the tea and stare through the window again. “Just let it go.”
“Nothing?” Anger slips into his voice. “You call what happened to you nothing?”
“Please.” I turn my face to him with a beseeching look. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
A muscle ticks in his temple, but he drops the subject. For now, at least.
We carry on driving deeper into the city. I can’t even bring myself to ask him where we’re going. At this point, it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, I can change my destination as little as I can change my fate. What’s waiting for me can’t be worse than how my wedding day started and ended. My wedding night must be the worst night of my life, excluding that fatal early winter evening when Angelo killed my dad. But I can’t think about that now. If I do, I’ll break down, and I need to hold on to my strength, even if only for appearances. I don’t want to show Angelo how shaken I am. He’ll only exploit my weakness.
The driver pulls up in front of a luxury hotel. Angelo gets out and opens my door. He extends his hand, but I ignore the offer of assistance. Does he take no for an answer? Never. Not Angelo. That word doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. Locking his fingers around my wrist, he helps me from the car whether I want him to or not.
A memory of the day we met flashes through my mind, how his eyes had flared when I’d said no to him. I should’ve known then, but I was young and inexperienced. Falling in love. Falling for the wrong man. That man took my heart, and he never returned it. There’s no hope of ever getting it back, because the man I gave my love to is an illusion. The man who holds my affections in a beautiful prison constructed of never-ending pain is nothing but a pretty pretense. He’s like a character from a book, and I’m the fool who bought into the story. I can never get back what I gave him, not my virtue and not my innocence. None of my firsts. Least of all my love. I gave that to a man who doesn’t exist, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow.