Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Keep going.” It was more of a command than a request.
“She was drinking. She said that I was a disappointment, and my father is ashamed of me. She called me a whore and said that I ruined a more lucrative match.”
“This is because you’re going to marry me and not Dubois.”
I pulled his jacket around me tighter, wincing as my sore hand twinged, and nodded.
“She struck you because she thinks you are the one that let that happen,” he repeated like he didn’t quite believe me.
“I may have…” I did not want to anger him further.
“You what?” he pressed.
“I said she was the one that ruined the match by having whatever secret you are holding over her head.”
He raised one eyebrow as his mouth lifted in a grin. “You fought back?”
I nodded.
“Then what happened?”
“She hit me. I was stupid. I wasn’t watching out for it. She had drunk almost a full bottle of champagne. I thought she was too drunk to—”
“Did you pick out a dress?”
“No.”
“Which of these do you like?” He turned abruptly to rifle through the racks.
“None of them.”
“Did you just not want to… what is it the kids are saying now? ‘Say yes to the dress?’”
I gave him a soft smile.
“I guess just nothing that was ugly enough.”
“Ugly enough?” He turned to look at me again.
“Even at my own wedding, my mother is trying to outshine me. These dresses are the most avant-garde dresses from the top couture designers. They are all either hideous, more concept art than wearable gowns, or made for a different body type and skin tone,” I explained.
“So you don’t like any of them?” He looked at me another moment then back to the dresses. “None of them really looks like you. They are all so stark white, still and lifeless.”
“That’s because they aren’t for me.” I shrugged, then was hit with an overwhelming sadness.
She would never love me, never want me to really succeed. Why couldn’t I have been born into a family like Marco’s? Where people were cherished and supported.
“Shh, it’s okay, I have you now.” He reached out and grabbed my hand.
He pressed where her heel had dug into my hand.
The pain was instant. I jerked back my hand and let out a cry of pain.
Cradling my hand to my chest, I looked up at Luc, and his jaw was clenched again.
“Give me your hand, Amelia.” He held out his hand for mine.
“Please.” I pressed it harder against my chest.
I didn’t know if he wanted to see why I yanked my hand away or if he was going to dig his thumb into the forming bruise from my mother to punish me for pulling away.
I knew what he’d said earlier, but I didn’t want to risk it. I couldn’t take any more pain tonight.
This day had already been one of the longest of my life, filled with emotional highs and lows. One thing right after the other.
I was exhausted, and my nerves were frayed. It was too much.
“Give me your hand, Amelia. I’m mad, but not at you. Let me see how bad it is, babygirl.” His tone was so much softer.
I still didn’t trust him, but I didn’t have any other options. Slowly, I offered my hand to him, palm up.
Gently as he could, he grasped the ends of my fingers to flip my hand to the ugly red welt that was forming on the top my hand.
“What made this mark?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. Who did this to you and with what?” Then, more to himself, he said, “We should get this looked at by a doctor.”
“It’s nothing,” I tried to argue again.
“Amelia, I have vowed to never break a promise to you.” His blue eyes stared into mine. “Can you please promise me that you won’t lie to me again, especially not when it comes to your safety?”
The sincerity in his gaze made me pause again. I was seeing such a different side of this man. I didn’t know what to believe.
He meant what he was saying. Or did I just believe what he was saying because I wanted to? I was going to marry him. He would be my husband soon. I wanted…if not love, at least kindness.
A thud at the door drew my attention away from him. She was listening. She had to be. I was already going to pay for telling him what she said about my weight and the comments he made about her.
“Did your mother do this, too?” he said, lowering his voice.
I nodded.
“With what?”
“Her stiletto.”
I looked down. I couldn’t stand even the idea of having him pity me.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I looked back up at him. I expected pity or anger. Instead, I saw resolve.
He buttoned his jacket over me, covering me from shoulders to mid-thigh. Then he scooped me up in his arms. I immediately grabbed his shoulder with my good hand, and he carried me out of the room.