Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Those last moments in the kitchen replay in my mind, and I swear when Amadeo turns to look at me, I can feel his hands on me, his fingers inside my panties. Teasing me. Showing me just how much he owns me. Because he does. There is no question about that. I am his. I may want to deny it, at least sexually, but I live because he grants me life. He needs me. I don’t know why just yet. I don’t know how he’ll use me, and this strange marriage is confusing. Why does he demand it? I could understand the fake engagement. He needed to get the authorities and the press off his back. My brother could make trouble for him even from the safety of the penthouse in New York City. I’m the daughter of a wealthy man. An heiress to a fortune. I’d be considered important. Whoever said money can’t buy everything never had enough of it.
Amadeo approaches me, and the soldiers step away, giving us some privacy. Bruno and the woman at his side sit down and turn to the altar. I unconsciously take a step back and have to stop myself from taking another. I can’t show fear. Men like him thrive on it. They eat it for breakfast.
My stomach flutters again, and I find Amadeo is right. I am attracted to him. His deep, low voice, the sense of control that emanates from him when he speaks, when he simply stands in a room, his eyes on me, his scent around me, his hands on me, I want it. I want his attention. His touch. And I do hate myself for it. Perhaps more than I hate him.
“Dandelion,” he says with a smile as false as any as he takes hold of my arms. “Don’t make me chase you. Not here.”
“I’m not running. I’m not a coward.”
“No, you’re not that.” Is he flattering me? The bastard. Before I can tell him to shove his compliment, he squeezes his hands around my arms. “You understand what you need to do?”
“Yes. Pretend I want to marry you. Pretend it’s my choice to tie myself to a monster.”
He grins. “Exactly,” he says, irritatingly smug. That smugness, too, does not repel me. It’s that sickness inside me. Maybe it’s self-hate to want to be wanted by a monster. Or maybe I see something of myself in him.
He steps closer so there’s no risk of anyone else hearing him. “If you’re good, I’ll finish what I started in the kitchen.”
I shove at his arms, but he only tightens his grip as he searches my face. “Is this remotely funny to you?”
He sobers. “Hardly.”
“Why do you want this?” I ask. “Why marry me? I’m already your prisoner.”
“Prisoner is a harsh word.”
“It’s the one that fits.”
“Believe it or not, I am protecting you from a greater danger than I.”
I snort.
“As well as protecting Emma from your brother.”
“He wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Are you so sure about that?”
I don’t answer.
“And what about you? Would he hurt you?” He pauses, and I wonder if it’s just for effect or if he knows something I don’t. But no, he’s messing with me. It’s another game. “You’re twenty-one in just a few days.”
I feel my forehead furrow as I try to follow. “What does that have to do with anything.”
“Your father is dead. Now that he’s gone, your brother’s hold over your family’s company could grow, or it could not.”
I study him, confused momentarily. “Are you talking about our shares?” I hadn’t thought about this or even cared about it. I still don’t. I know I come into my share of the company on my twenty-first birthday. I guess Emma has something similar in place when she is of age. Our father would have held the majority of the shares, but now that he’s gone, I’m not sure how that’s divided. It hadn’t occurred to me what would happen to my dad’s holdings when he passed. His passing wasn’t something I ever thought about.
My conversation with Amadeo from days ago plays in my mind.
“How safe do you think either of you were or would be in your brother’s house now that Daddy is in the ground? Have you ever wondered about his sudden death, by the way? He was a healthy, fit man, as I understood it at least.”
My father had a heart attack. In some way, I understand Amadeo’s doubt, though. And perhaps it’s seeped into my own mind over the days. Another small, subtle victory for Amadeo. He has sown the doubt he intended to sow. I never thought about my father dying because he was so vital. So alive. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
“I didn’t think this was about money. You told me you don’t need our money,” I say.