Total pages in book: 186
Estimated words: 178688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 893(@200wpm)___ 715(@250wpm)___ 596(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 893(@200wpm)___ 715(@250wpm)___ 596(@300wpm)
Katie: I would totally save a horse and ride a cowboy. Count me in!
Everleigh: Gemma?
I swallow down the lump in my throat, not in the mood to celebrate my defeat. It’s not a happy moment, and I feel as though I’m planning my funeral. I find some courage and text them back.
Gemma: I’d rather not go all out, if possible. Can we have drinks here instead?
Katie: I’m fine with whatever you wanna do! It’s your choice.
The knife drives in deeper, and I don’t know what to say. They’re just trying to be nice when I’d rather just hide away from it all. We’re all trying to make the best of a shitty situation.
Everleigh: Gemma…you really don’t have to go through with this. We’re here to support you.
I’ve had to reiterate my decision to them both so much over the past week like a broken record. They’re aware of how I feel about Robert and the ultimatum he gave me. And though I’ve tried to convince them this is the right thing to do to save my dad’s home, they’re not convinced no matter how many times I say it.
Gemma: I know. Appreciate and love you both so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
I think about Tyler. I think about everything we’ve shared. I think about that night that I went over to his house and explained everything. What I’m being forced to do makes me feel sick. If I could blink and take away every moment that Robert and I spent together, I would. They say people learn something from every relationship, but the only thing I learned is I trusted him too much.
After work, I leave and go to his house where I’ve been forced to stay since he moved my shit there. Robert shows up late as I’m warming up a frozen entree. While I’d rather pretend he’s not home, he forces my attention to him.
“You look like utter shit,” he hisses as soon as he sees me. He doesn’t sit but rather crosses his arms. “When you quit your job, I expect you to look put together and at least try. I won’t have you staying home, lounging in filth like this.”
I have no energy to argue with him. “What do you want?”
The quicker he says what he needs to say, the sooner he’ll leave me alone, and right now, I want my distance from him more than anything.
“There’s one more thing we need to add to our agreement,” he says with a pushy edge to his tone as if I’m one of his clients and still need to sign on the dotted line. Though he may have gotten the upper end of the deal—considering he wants me to have his children, quit my job, and play the role of the perfect housewife and mother for the rest of my life—I plan to get the last laugh. Happy wife, happy life, right? I can guarantee I’ll be miserable, and so will he.
“What is it?” When the microwave dings, I grab my shitty enchiladas and a fork, then plop on the couch. He looks so damn offended that I’m not eating at the kitchen table and will probably explode at any second now. Crossing his arms, he moves where he’s in my view and blocks the TV.
“The night of our wedding, I want us to have sex. I think it’s important we consummate our marriage properly.”
This has me nearly choking on my food, and I glare at him. Has he lost his damn mind?
I’ve never been so damn thankful to be on birth control. There’s no way in hell I’m going off it, either. But he’s so ate up in his own damn self that he doesn’t even realize I’m still on the pill. Hell, I might take double doses to ensure I don’t get pregnant. While I do want kids someday, I don’t want his.
“That wasn’t a part of the original agreement. You can’t just change things two days beforehand because you didn’t think about it.”
“Gemma. I want to have children as soon as possible to please my family and continue my legacy. That’s always been a part of our plan. And the sooner we try, the quicker it’ll happen. You know it’s tradition for a husband and wife to sleep together on their wedding night.”
“Will the deed be signed on Monday then?” I ask.
“I will sign when we return from our honeymoon,” he states matter-of-factly. “It should be obvious how much trust I have for you, and I need to make sure you’ll keep your end of the deal before I give you anything. You’re too conniving.”
I bite my tongue at his audacity. “This is purely transactional, Robert. All of it. The wedding. Having children. All you’re doing is checking boxes on your life list, and I’m disgusted that I’m being forced to be a part of it. So you give me what I want, and I’ll bow down and do what you say.”