Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Rising to my feet, warning darkens on my face. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Andreas locks eyes with me, not bristling before my anger. “It means you’re fucking living in denial if you think you don’t care about Tess and you can just hand her off to Christos. You’re making a mistake.” He walks to the door, and opening it, he glares back at me. “One you might regret for the rest of your life.”
“Get out!” I bark unnecessarily because the fucker’s already shutting the door behind his ass.
I slump back in my chair, and grabbing the phone, I stare at Manno’s address while doing my fucking best to ignore Andreas’ words taunting me like a haunting echo.
Manno’s not even in fucking Vancouver. The fucker’s in Toronto.
That’s fine. I’ll take this fucking war right to his doorstep. After the wedding.
The wedding.
An overpowering emotion rocks me to my core, just like yesterday, and the day before, and every other fucking day since I arranged the marriage.
Thinking of Tess becoming Christos’ wife… It must be done. For my sanity and for her safety.
This wedding will happen.
I refuse to look deeper, refuse to dissect the emotions, refuse to think of her naked body beneath another man.
The wedding has to happen. There’s no room for doubts.
You don’t even care about the woman, so fucking forget about her already.
You have more pressing matters that need your full attention.
Focus, Nikolas.
Chapter 22
Tess
Mom smoothes the silk over my hips and arranges the short train behind me. “I wish your father could see you,” she croons, swept up in the emotions of the day.
My wedding day.
God, how did it come to this?
I still haven’t been able to make sense of the past two weeks. Too much has happened.
Tears threaten to overwhelm me, but once again, I manage to swallow them back with the help of the two Xanax pills I’ve already taken.
At this rate, I might overdose before the reception is over, seeing as there’s a chance Irene might attend the celebrations. God help me if that’s the case. There’s no way I’d survive it. Not today.
“Agápi mou, you look breathtaking.”
I don’t feel beautiful. I hate the white dress, the flowers, the makeup. I’d much rather wear black.
“Smile,” Mom chastises me.
I don’t even try to hide how upset I am, because even though Christos seems to be a good man, I don’t feel anything for him. “Why should I smile? I’m being traded like a horse.”
“Hush!” Mom gasps. “Your husband will take good care of you.”
Refusing to look at my reflection in the mirror, I keep my eyes lowered. I don’t want to see the white satin mermaid dress hugging my curves. I don’t want to see the bride staring back at me.
“This is not just your day, Theresa,” Mom continues to chastise me. “Think of the guests, of Peter, of me.”
The way you all thought of me?
Mom covers my face with the veil, sealing my fate.
Don’t cry.
Chin up.
They wanted a mafia princess, so give them one.
I try to gather enough strength to stand up for myself, seeing as no one else will.
I’m led through a corridor, and we stop behind closed doors. Pachelbel Canon in D starts to play, and the doors open, revealing the aisle that leads to my waiting groom.
Panic floods my veins with every step Mom pulls me down the red carpet. Hushed murmurs float from the guests until it sounds like a buzzing in my ears.
I keep my eyes focused on the bouquet in my hand, refusing to look at all the guests in fear of seeing Nikolas smirking at me because he won.
He can take your freedom but not your pride.
Don’t break in front of them. Keep it together.
Still, a sob builds, and this time, I can’t stop it from escaping my lips. The fragile sound takes flight, blending with the music and murmurs.
My heart shrivels into a dark hole. My stomach tightens into a hard knot. Silent tears spill over my cheeks, my breaths speeding up.
Mom pulls me to a stop, and lifting the veil, she presses a kiss on my cheek. “Take the pill.” A Xanax is shoved into my hand. “You can do this.”
I can’t, Mamá. Don’t make me do this!
Mom leaves me standing at the altar to take her seat next to Peter. My eyes snap the pill lying in my palm while I suck in a deep breath, gathering all the strength I have.
My fingers close around the pill, then I think an anxiety attack is the best thing that can happen right now. It might stop the wedding. My fingers open, and I let the pill fall to the red carpet.
Polished black shoes come into view, and Christos takes hold of my hand, slipping it through the crook of his arm. I’m turned to face the priest.
Everything inside me dies, and a deadly calmness washes through my veins.