Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Shut up, asshole. You aren’t that much older than I am.”
His easygoing nature makes me smile. At least one of us hasn’t been ruined by the world yet. I hope his twin gets her own quick smile back in the future too. Way more than any of us have been willing to give has already been stolen from us. By society. By our own flesh and blood. I don’t intend to make it easy for them to break Cilla as well.
25
CILLA
The move back to his safehouse apartment feels like a retreat. From the moment we arrive, Ivan seems to withdraw. I’m not sure what happened between when he woke up and when we left, but I don’t think it was good. Not that he’s going to open up to me about it.
Each day he grows more and more angry. At first, I thought it was because of me and how I trapped him into this marriage. Hell, he wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for me and what happened with my father.
I don’t have high hopes. Once he kills Arthur, I expect he’ll ask for a divorce, but a tiny part of me wants to keep him a little longer. But would he hate me for it?
So while we are here, I try to keep myself busy. Try to, being the operative word. When I try to clean, he stops me, saying he pays people to do it. When I try to cook, he shoos me out of the kitchen and says we can order from the restaurant down the street. Even when I try to touch him, he traps my hand against his chest and shakes his head.
I don’t know what I did to change things between us, but I can’t take it much longer. He’s like a ghost. An angry poltergeist who can’t let go of his unfinished business. I just don’t know how to fix things between us.
A week after the wedding, after five days of being cooped up, I’ve had enough. I didn’t try to gain my freedom to be locked up in a prettier cage. It’s afternoon when I find him at a bench in his armory, cleaning his weapons. An array of tiny parts is laid out on the table in front of him, all perfectly lined up, while he polishes one part with a stained off-white cloth.
“What are you doing in here?” His voice is gruff, and he doesn’t even glance my way.
I wouldn’t say he scares me, but I’m wary of sparking his anger. “Is this what you do in your free time?”
He keeps polishing the already shiny part in his hands. “I don’t have free time.”
As he’s been for days, it’s a testy answer. “Okay, fine. Is this something you enjoy doing?”
His eyes finally flash up to mine. “Watch your tone.”
I sigh. What the hell can I do to get through to him? “I’m trying to get to know you if you haven’t noticed.”
Now he lifts his head to look at me, really look at me. “Why?”
Shit. I can’t tell him the truth—that I’ve developed feelings for my husband, and I want to know more about him. So I shrug. “What else is there to do here but talk. I’m bored out of my mind, and you make a good distraction.”
He narrows his eyes and sweeps my body with his gaze. “A distraction, huh?”
I reach out to pick up one of the parts, but he slaps the back of my hand before I can clutch anything. “Sorry. I just mean, we are stuck together for a while. Maybe we can get to know one another.”
“What if I don’t want to know anything about you?” Unlike his previous statements, there’s nothing cold in his tone. He says it flat, dull, like it’s a conditioned response used to push people away and not his true feelings.
Or maybe I just want it to be that way. I want him to want me as much as I want him, and so far…he doesn’t. It hurts that he doesn’t need me like I need him.
I shrug like it doesn’t matter, even as a new kind of pain blooms inside my chest. It’s been a long time since someone had the power to hurt me. A very long time since I’d given anyone that power. Somehow, I’d given it to Ivan. The gruff, tattoo-covered bastard is determined to save me even though he doesn’t even like me.
I’m so fucked.
Instead of continuing the conversation and inviting more pain, I spin and head back out the door. I wish I hadn’t gone in there to begin with. What the hell did I think I was going to do? Get him to open up and tell me about his terrible childhood? Share my own pain, and we’d connect, and he’d finally take me back to bed where we belong?