Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
My toes curl into the carpet, a smile slipping onto my face. So this is it. The part where the consummation of our marriage plays out like some fucking Puritan throwback.
“Are—”
He cuts me off. “We sleep in separate rooms.”
A strange silence settles between us. My shoulders pull back on instinct, spine straightening like it knows something I don't. Not that we haven't had silence before, only this time, it feels different. Taut. My throat tightens. Like the knot of a bow tightening, only not around a wedding gift, but around me. And that's not a bow. It's a noose.
“Okay,” I say instead, because a noose is only another accessory to add to my collection. Ceramic. Fragile. Perfect, for him. “Is there a reason why?”
He drags his hand over his cheek, battling with his answer. Lie. “You and I both appreciate our space, so this will allow us to keep that.”
How cute.
With a flick around the room, his eyes land back on me. “I wasn't sure what decorations you'd like, so I picked everything.”
A small twitch pulls at my lips. I've survived worse than separate bedrooms. I could do this. Did it strike me as odd that he’d decided to put a large amount of distant between us now? Yes, but I wasn’t about to argue.
“Thank you,” I say, fingers biting into my palms.
He hesitates, his eyes lingering on my body for a beat too long. “Goodnight, Ivanya.”
With a light click, he closes the door behind himself, shutting off all light.
Reaching for the bedside table, my hand lands on the lamp, and I flick it on.
“Goodnight,” I sigh, lowering to the mattress. This could be worse, Ivanya.
Sweat drips from my chin by the time I hit the tenth mile. I’m on a steady rhythm; my focus locked on the blank wall ahead. Honeymoon dick down and breakfast in bed? Nope. Not for me. The only thing getting pounded this morning is the conveyor belt of this treadmill.
My chest burns as the display ticks over to twelve miles and Korn screams through my ears.
I slam the bright red stop button, and the belt slows to a crawl. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I take in the room more carefully. Parker's taste is elegant, which is just a polite way of saying fucking boring. This shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does.
I scoop up my water bottle and towel and jog up the stairs to the main living area. Just like the gym, the rest of the house is lifeless. Blank walls, echoing footsteps because he can’t even be bothered filling the space with a lot of furniture. It’s a fucking mausoleum.
It could be worse.
Laughter reverberates through the room as I round the stairs. I hesitate. I’ve never seen Parker so much as crack a wide enough smile much less laugh.
With silent steps, I ease myself closer. What could possibly be the reason for this…man to finally laugh.
“Ah, here she is!”
Damn. So much for being stealthy.
I swing further around the room with a wide smile. One I’ve mastered. Parker’s mouth curves with something resembling satisfaction, shoulders squared. Fuck him for wearing marital pride better than his tailored suits.
I know better. But I've also had worse.
My eyes land on the newcomer and I pause. I don’t know what I expected Parker’s friends to look like, but this guy isn’t it. With cheekbones carved by Gods that I could only imagine were put on this earth to starve women like me, and skin too smooth for someone so large, I've backed myself into a corner because he’s beautiful. Black hair, eyes so blue you question if they’re real, and lips full enough you wonder what they’d feel like…everywhere.
Shit. Wait—how long have I been staring? Pretty bastard.
I clear my throat. “Hi! I didn’t realize we were having guests?”
The closer I get, the tighter the room feels. His eyes hold mine for a second too long, as if stripping through every secret I’ve ever kept. What color is that? Hopefully he has a shit smile so I don’t have to worry if I’m gawking like a fucking pervert.
He stands, extending his hand. Dark ink spirals lean forearms before creeping up the side of his throat in deliberate patterns. If I had to guess, he’d be in his early twenties.
“Nice to see you, Ivy.” My name rolls off his tongue like he's tasted it before, like he knows exactly how it feels in his mouth. Rude as hell. My name has no business being anywhere near a man who looks this.
Hell. No.
He glances at Parker, then his gaze swings back to me. The movement reveals more of the ink at his throat, disappearing under hair buzzed tight to his scalp as a fade before becoming longer on the top. Weaponized beauty. That’s what he is.
The corner of his mouth lifts, before turning into a full smile that flashes all his teeth. Damnit it. Not a shit smile. More like one that feels like a punch to the ribs.