Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
My head’s spinning. I feel like I might pass out. I wave my hands in front of me to both ward him off and to catch my balance.
“I’m sorry, this is a lot. Sam’s weird. You’re weird! I’m just—“
“You still haven’t answered my question. Do you like the ring?”
I look down at my hand. I have it gripped tightly in my palm. I hold it up to the meager moonlight seeping through the window and watch it glitter, biting my lip, a strange sharp excitement in my core.
“It’s nice,” I tell him.
“Nice?” He sounds disappointed. “I put some effort into stealing that, you know.”
“Hold on, you stole—“ I stop when I see him grinning. I bump his shoulder with mine. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny, but no, I didn’t steal it. That was purchased legally. Pretty sure I got robbed actually.”
“Serves you right.” I close my hand again, hiding it away. I’m not sure why I feel so protective of the ring, like somehow he’s here to take it away, and I don’t want him to. Does that mean I like it? Does it mean I want to keep his creepy gift?
He seems thoughtful. I’m surprised at how attractive I find him, but I shouldn’t be. That afternoon in the office, I wanted him more than I’ve ever wanted someone in my life, and the hours since then have only complicated that feeling, but they haven’t completely destroyed it.
If anything, now he’s even more taboo. But also not? Since we’re getting married?
God, I’m so confused and frustrated, and when he looks at me like he wants to destroy me I can’t make my brain work properly.
“You know the last time I actually spent money on something expensive?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, because I obviously have no clue. We’re still practically strangers. “Senior year of college. There was this car, this old boxy Volvo. My dad told me it was the biggest piece of shit imaginable, but I wanted it anyway. I worked hard that summer, picked up extra shifts at a parking garage my family managed, helped myself to a few fancy BMWs—“
“That’s still stealing,” I mutter, smiling despite myself.
“—and I bought that car against all better judgement. I remember Riley laughing so hard when she saw me driving it. She said it was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.”
“You and her seem close.”
“We are. She’s the only person in this world I trust.”
“What happened to it? The car, I mean?”
“Broke down two weeks later.” He sighs, leaning his head back. “My dad was right, but god damn if I didn’t still love that stupid thing. I had to sell it a year later after it kept giving me trouble, but those were good days.”
I sink into a comfortable silence. He’s looking ahead, only halfway in the room, and I like that look on his face. It’s thoughtful and calm in ways he’s not normally. I’ve only seen the Brenden with armor wrapped around him, with layers of lies and defenses protecting his core self, but here at the foot of my bed I’m catching the glimpse of a person underneath, and I like him.
“Do you really want to do this?” I shift closer to him, feeling his warmth. “This whole marriage thing?”
“Not really, no.”
“I don’t either.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Why are you doing it then? I mean, who’s forcing you?”
He considers me, lips pressed tight. “If someone’s making you marry me—“
“You know what I mean. I’m not walking down the aisle because I’m head over heels for the asshole I flashed one random day. I’m doing this because my parents want me to.”
“I’m doing it for my sister.” His voice is soft and melodious. His attention is delicious like fingers grazing down my naked arms. “I’m doing it for myself too.”
“For yourself?”
“I’ve done bad things, Tallie.”
“Huge shock there.”
“Very bad things. I’ve hurt people. Gotten them killed. I owe the Sarkissian family my life, and now they’re collecting on that debt.”
“I’m your repayment plan.”
“Exactly. Sorry, but it’s the truth.”
I’m disappointed and I don’t know why. It’s not like I want to be his wife—so why would it matter if he doesn’t want to be my husband? But maybe some naive part of me thought we had a moment together at the party, when I accidentally showed him my tits and he got me off on the desk, and maybe I hoped that meant something. That he’s doing this because he has to, but also, on some level, because he wants me.
It’s silly though and embarrassment floods me.
“That’s fine, it’s fine, no big deal.” My brain churns desperately for a change of subject and I flail for the first idea that pops into my mind. “What were you doing in the office that day at the party?”