Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
After all, Sophie doesn’t make waves just to be difficult. She only does it over something she’s truly passionate about.
Defending herself has never made that list.
I don’t love what assholes like Dylan Prescott have gotten away with because of it, but now that she’s mine, no one will ever get one over on her again.
I’ll make damn sure of it.
While I still don’t entirely understand my parents’ relationship, what Dad said while the girls were in the kitchen stirred memories of a couple of nights ago.
Was I pissed that Sophie showed up at his house? Fuck yes.
Would I have lost her over it?
Not a fucking chance.
Dad and I may not agree on forgoing her punishment completely—if anything had happened between them, I would have gone scorched fucking earth—but maybe we’re more alike than I thought.
And she may not have chosen this life, but Sophie can fit in here. Maybe not seamlessly with no friction, but she can fit.
When we get back upstairs, as I’m helping her unzip her dress, Sophie tells me, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I am not on your side when it comes to this whole situation with your mom. I think she’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how she puts up with your father. If I were her, I’d cheat on him too, just to piss him off.”
I smirk, tugging the material of her dress apart and exposing her lovely back. “I believe that’s why he never would have married you. Would’ve ended badly.”
“I can’t believe he managed to marry her. She’s just so lovely and he’s so… not. Was it a hostage situation? Is this a Stockholm marriage or something?”
I kiss her bare back. “The men in my family are pretty ruthless when it comes to locking down the woman they desire, but as far as I know, there was no kidnapping involved in their courtship.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
I shrug. “Opposites attract. Sometimes,” I add, since obviously she and my father do not attract at all.
“I feel like adopting her so I can rescue her from his dastardly clutches.”
That melts the smile right off my face. I’m sure she’s joking, but I’m also sure there’s a kernel of truth to what she says. “That’s one thing you can never do,” I tell her. “My father can be a bit of a bastard, but there’s no one he loves more than her. He’d never tolerate someone trying to separate them.”
She peeks at me over her shoulder. “Even if it’s a noble humanitarian effort?”
I nod solemnly. “He’s more villain than hero. He wouldn’t empathize and doesn’t care about any human who isn’t her.”
She cracks a smile. “What about you?”
“I’m second or third on the list. She has her own separate sheet of paper because she’s so far above everyone else. It’s not even close.”
“Hmm.”
I kiss her shoulder. “He’s also already pegged you as a potential problem, so do us both a favor and please don’t give him any more reason to believe that. My father isn’t a nice man, Sophie. All jokes aside, he’s not someone you want to cross.”
With a frown marring her pretty brow, she looks back at me. “Did you ever tell me what it was your father does for a living?”
I lean in and brush a kiss across her lips. “I didn’t.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Could you?”
I kiss her again, lingering close to her mouth. “He makes a lot of money. That’s all you need to know.”
“I disagree,” she says, but then she gasps when I swat her on the ass. “Hey!”
I grin and grab her hand, dragging her back into the bedroom. “Come on. It’s time for bed.”
“But it’s only…” She looks around for a clock, but fails to find one. “Well, I’m not sure, but it’s not bedtime.”
“I didn’t say we’re going to sleep.”
Chapter thirty-one
Sophie
I’m having the oddest dream.
My brain is sometimes hateful when I’m asleep and unable to defend myself. It forces me to deal with things I’m too well-guarded to allow in when I’m awake.
Since I met Silvan, he’s taken my life over to such a degree that even my brain stopped pulling its shit while I slept.
Tonight, it disturbs me by putting me in the passenger seat of a car that Dylan Prescott is driving. I look over at him, a bit foggy on why he’s there, but in my dream state, not fully possessing all my faculties, either. All I can feel is the confusion at first, and then a strong sense of dread.
I don’t want to go anywhere with him.
I don’t want him driving my car.
I glance in the backseat and see my wedding dress hanging up. Not a real wedding dress, not white and lovely like I would want my wedding dress to be. It’s a plain dress that only falls to the knee, a pale purple color, and despite the sense that it’s new, the fabric is already pilling.