Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“He did what?” I step closer, trying to follow the connections, which only makes me press myself against him. There’s a terrible moment where we’re standing very close and I can feel his breath on my neck and his hand presses against my side as he steadies me, and I release this ugly, evil little whimper at his touch, and I jerk myself away. He stares as I retreat to the closet entrance, heart racing.
“Sorry,” I say like ten times. “I wasn’t careful. I didn’t mean—”
Simons expression hardens. “You’re apologizing for touching me? That’s how bad things are between us?”
I turn away, biting down on my thumbnail. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then when are we going to talk? Because I have a lot I want to say.”
I close my eyes, feeling sick, afraid for my dad and drowning in self-loathing. “You don’t have to say anything, okay? I know what we need to do. We got married because you needed me to help you become Don and that plan didn’t work out. Now you have a new chance, so why wouldn’t you go after it? I mean, what do you care if you’re married to me or some other girl? I get it, we had fun, but you have to do what you have to do. It’s fine. We don’t need to discuss it. Just send me the divorce papers—”
Simon steps out of the closet, releasing an annoyed growl. I’m forced backward, stumbling toward the bed as he stands over me, looking all annoyed, menacing, and drop-dead beautiful. The big, handsome bastard looks even better when he’s staring at me like he wants to rip my head off with his teeth.
“I’m not divorcing you,” he says and looks like he wants to reach for me, but I move back, shaking my head.
“Yes, you are. It’s totally stupid not to. I can’t help you become the Don, but that girl can, right? That’s everything you want. Why would you give it up for me?”
He takes a deep breath and seems to compose himself. When he looks at me again, his face is calm, but the tension in the room hasn’t dispersed. If anything, it’s worse.
“You’re my wife, topolina,” he says, voice low and resonant with a thousand different emotions, all of which shudder down my spine. I hug myself tighter, trying to keep my body from reacting to his every word, but it’s impossible. “I’m not going to divorce you because I don’t want to. There’s nothing in this world that could convince me to leave you, much less to marry some other woman. I don’t give a damn about my end of the deal anymore. I want you, and I have you, and I’m not giving that up.”
That’s what I’ve wanted to hear since I ran from the house. Those exact words have been playing through my most pathetic fantasies, and now he’s said them, but somehow, they don’t do anything but make me want to cry.
Because he’s wrong.
I don’t think he’s lying, but he’s wrong. “Marrying that girl gives you everything you’ve dreamed of. I can’t let you give that up for this.”
“You don’t get to make that decision.”
“Simon—”
“I want you, Emily. I need you. I don’t fucking know when that happened or how you managed to crawl under my skin, but I’m too fucking into you.”
I back away, skirting the bed, putting space between us. “Stop saying that. Okay? Just stop. It’s meaningless. We were never forever.”
He only stares at me, and he doesn’t say it, but I know what he’s thinking.
I’m thinking it too.
We could be.
But that’s stupid and childish. It’s a silly fairy-tale ending. This relationship is a business deal, and now that our goals are no longer aligned, we have no real reason to stay together. Which means we should end things and move on before it gets worse.
“He figured it out,” Simon says, and the abrupt change in conversation takes me a second to catch on.
“What do you mean, he figured it out? That crazy-person shit in there actually makes sense to you?”
Simon nods and looks back at the closet thoughtfully. “Your dad’s pretty fucking smart, I have to admit. And probably very paranoid. But all that in there, it’s the web of shell companies and fake corporations I set up in order to funnel money into your father’s account while pretending it’s extra Social Security payments. None of them are directly linked to me, but he definitely realized that those checks aren’t coming from the government. Honestly, I’m impressed, because I put a hell of a lot of work into making this look as real as possible.”
I let that sink in. Dad’s not having a breakdown. He’s not getting scammed again.
He just saw through our stupid ruse.
I start laughing. I can’t help myself. I move past Simon and head into the closet, and I start to see what he means. Dad took the tiny little breadcrumbs Simon left behind and unraveled the whole thing via Google searches and public information, which is honestly impressive. I lean against the wall, laughing with my head thrown back, laughing because it’s better than crying and I sure as fuck need a release.