Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
As I do that, I’m filled with bitterness. My entire life has been like this. It’s getting to the point where I’m resenting my own sister. Death is better than the life I’m leading where I’m forced to eat shit on a daily basis. This isn’t living and I’m nearing the end of my rope.
Fucking hell.
“What? Oh sure, sure. Whatever you want,” he says and then he’s gone. He’s leaving me alone with his sick daughter and isn’t even concerned. I shake my head. I sit there for a bit, stunned. Then, I go to find a bodyguard because I have no idea where Helena is.
Chapter 3
Helena
I’m dying.
I let out a groan, curling up tighter into the fetal position, my arms wrapped tight around my stomach as the cramps take over once more. I close my eyes wishing I felt like walking so I could go get some medicine for the pain. Right now, moving isn’t worth it. I close my eyes and pray sleep hits me. Sleeping through this pain would be a miracle, so I figure it is a good use of a prayer. I barely contain another moan when there’s a knock on the door. It’s probably Clay, one of my new bodyguards. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m dying. He was hovering over me and driving me a little crazy. I finally told him I had a fever yesterday and again today and I was probably highly contagious. If I hadn’t been so miserable, I would have laughed at the way he scurried out of the room. I wouldn’t normally lie, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to explain to my more-than-slightly hot bodyguard that I started my period yesterday and I’m going to be miserable for the next day or so. I won’t even tell my father that. Of course, he didn’t even care that I was sick. I decided to test him to see. I told him my fever was this exorbitantly high number—to the point I would be one step away from death. His response was to tell my bodyguard to let me sleep it off because I was just being dramatic. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. I think, somewhere inside of me, I will always wish my father cared about me.
There’s another knock and I let out a sigh. The touch is too soft to be my father. It’s definitely Clay.
“Come in,” I mumble, wishing I could just yell and tell him to leave me alone.
“Hey.” I look up as the door swings open slowly. His voice hits me a second before his face comes into focus.
Marco Stratakis.
For two years, I’ve wanted nothing more than to see him—to breathe the same air he did. I used to imagine it so much that my dreams played like mini films in my head. All of these had one major theme, Marco would see me, be instantly captivated, and apologize for ignoring me all this time. Then, he would take me into his arms, tell me he loved me—that he couldn’t live without me. Finally, he would kiss me. It wouldn’t be a kiss on the forehead, like he gave me on my sixteenth birthday. No, this time, his lips would claim mine, his tongue would war with mine and he would devour me.
In none of my daydreams was I lying on the bed, no makeup, my hair a sweaty, matted mess, and cramping because I was bleeding from my vagina and feeling extremely gross.
“Marco?” I whisper, hoping I’m just delirious with pain and imagining he’s standing in front of me. While thinking this, my gaze is raking lovingly over his beautiful, chiseled face. He has more gray in his beard and hair than he did two years ago. He looks wild and untamed—despite the dark blue suit and starched white shirt he’s wearing. He also looks as if he hasn’t slept in a month.
“I came in for a business trip and wanted to see you.”
“You did?”
I don’t bother hiding the surprise in my voice. I’m pretty sure you can hear my disbelief too. I can’t help it. Marco has spent two years ignoring me. I can’t believe he has all of the sudden decided to change and remember I’m around.
“Yeah, but I’m getting the feeling you aren’t up for dinner out.”
Damn it! I really want to be up to a dinner out.
“Probably not,” I whisper, disappointment laced deep in each of my words.
“They said you had a fever,” he adds, stepping deeper into the room.
I have a large room. I hate it. It’s all white and gray and that’s because my father is a monochromatic lover. Color is outlawed in the whole house. I once asked for a pink comforter and rug, I thought I may have to call an ambulance to rush him to a hospital. I can usually get what I want out of my father. All I have to do is annoy him and promise to leave him alone if he gives me what I want. It’s not something I do that often. Mostly because when you know someone hates when you enter their space, you do your best to stay out of it. I try not to take it personally because he does my brother the same way. Chris is older than I am and moved out years ago. I rarely see him. He despises our father, but the sad truth is that they’re really a lot alike.