Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
My heart sank. Fuck knew normal and happy weren’t in the cards for her with me.
“It’s not what I asked,” I said aloofly, feeling something…something. Inadequate. “How’d you get here, Gia?”
If she went into a bedroom with another man willingly, I was going to do something drastic. Not to her, but I could see myself setting the entire city on fire. When we weren’t in it, of course.
She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I went to the kitchen to find Cal to vent. These two men waited around the corner in the hallway and dragged me here. I didn’t see them coming. Once the door was shut, they called someone downstairs and told them to wait outside the back door.”
I glanced at the unconscious man at my feet. He looked pretty dead, or at least too badly injured to answer any questions. I rolled him with the tip of my loafer and crouched to put my fingers on his neck. Shallow pulse, no reflexes.
“They came close this time,” Gia whispered.
“Whose fault is that?” I tipped my head up, tapping my thigh as I counted crystal raindrops on the chandelier. Three hundred and seven. Odd number. How could they?
Gia stood up. “Only in your twisted mind is any of this my fault. You brought this on us. You and your stupid revenge plot.”
“Stupid?” I arched an eyebrow. “You got my father sent to prison and are responsible for his death, and we haven’t even properly discussed your role in this mess yet. Don’t you find that interesting?”
She flinched. I knew she had apologized, but she was still cagey about the details of what happened that night. A little fucking clarity would’ve gone a long way.
She opened her mouth. Clamped it shut. I was surprised and proud of her for hardly paying attention to the dying man at our feet. This was definitely progress.
Finally, she said, “You touched another woman.”
“You touched another man,” I countered.
She was jealous. I wanted her to admit it. To own it. To understand the implications of it.
She pinched her lower lip, staring at the carpet. “I don’t want you to touch anyone else ever again.”
“Done and ditto.” I peered around. I was going to need a lot of fucking soap and alcohol to wipe this place out.
“No more jokes about making someone else happy either,” she warned.
“Sweetheart, I’d never deliberately bring joy to anyone but you. You’re the only human I can stand.” The confession surprised me more than it did her.
I didn’t hate her.
I didn’t tolerate her.
I liked her.
Quite a fucking lot.
A terrible complication, obviously.
For the first time since I walked into the room, I softened, eating the space between us with one long stride. I put my hand on her damp cheek, tilting her face up. She closed her eyes.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
I brought both my palms to her cheeks, inching my face to hers. “Now.”
Her eyes fluttered open. I felt my heart drilling its way out of my rib cage.
“Listen to me carefully, Gia. I am yours. All of me belongs to you. My body—yours. Brain—yours. Money—yours. Kingdom—yours. Every inch. Every cell. Every atom. Every single breath has your name on it.”
“And your heart?” Her voice came out scratchy and thick, eyes glittering with tears. “Is it mine too?”
“Oh, Apricity.” I plastered my forehead to hers, gathering her into my arms. “If I had a heart to give, it would be yours. Without question.”
Later that night, when I stared in the bathroom mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.
My nose was the same. My lips, ears, and apple cheeks all recognizable to me. But my eyes had changed shape. They’d morphed into something hard, almost sinister. They had seen my husband kill numerous people. They had witnessed blood and terror and anguish. They sent this message to my heart, but it was never delivered.
Because the bloody organ did not care in the least.
I should’ve been scared. But all I felt was jealousy and possessiveness that simmered beneath my skin, threatening to explode.
Watching Tate with Lila tonight unleashed something wild in me.
I found myself crossing another moral barrier, like I did when I asked Dr. Stultz not to report Tate to the authorities.
I was willing to go all in for him.
Even if I didn’t know his real name.
Even if he didn’t know what really happened with his adoptive father and me and finding out would probably ruin what we had.
Shaking my head, I flicked the tap on and rinsed my facecloth in warm water, moving it across my cheeks, forehead, and chin. I wet it again and reached between my thighs to wipe the dry cum that clayed over my skin before thinking the better of it. Something thrilled me about going to bed marked by my husband’s sperm.
A knock hammered on my bedroom door, and Tate shouldered past it. The door to the en suite was open, giving him a direct view of me.