Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“What in the world are you talking about? Did you take your medication today?”
Remaining quiet, she walks me to the interconnected door I was anticipating to divide Ryke’s room from mine.
“I should call Father.”
She snatches my purse out of my hand, dumps it onto the bed, then pushes open the unlocked door. My heart launches into my throat when a man with salt-and-pepper hair, a goatee, and a well-tailored suit stands to his feet. He isn’t an ugly man, but he’s far too old for me to give his appearance an accurate rating.
“Coralie,” he croons in a deep voice while floating over to greet my mother with a sloppy mouth kiss.
The gleam in his eyes when he leaves slobber on my mother’s lips makes me sick. If she thinks I will keep this from my father, she’s underestimated our closeness. I loathe cheaters, and the remembrance shouldn’t surprise her. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught her in extra-marital activities.
“And you must be Natalya.” Bile burns my throat when he lowers his eyes to me and purrs out, “You are your mother’s twin.”
My mother glows from his praise until I remind him she was late to the party when she procreated. “Forty years ago.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “She has spunk. I like it.” My usually sky-high attitude endures a dip when he murmurs, “I could tell that about her the first time I saw her. I blame that for my instant fascination.” My mother balks along with me when he locks his eyes with hers and says, “You can go now. I will get her settled.” Her shudder is half the strength of mine, and she responds as if she isn’t bothered at all.
“Very well.” She drops her eyes to me. They’re shimmering with silent apologies but are still as stern as they’ve always been. “I shall see you at brunch.”
“Mother…” When she continues for the door without a backward glance, I try again. “Mother, please.” I follow her, my feet thudding like my heart, but she beats me to the door and locks it behind her. “Mother…” I bang and bang and bang until my fist aches, and then I spin around to face the man watching me with an amused smirk.
“Deadbolted,” he announces when my eyes stray to the main door of the room. “And I have the only key.” He tugs out a key dangling off a long, thin chain from beneath his dress shirt. “Once you’ve learned the most sacramental parts of your vows, you’ll be free to come and go as you please.” While watching me like a hawk, he removes his suit jacket before tackling the gun holster on his hip. “But until then, you will do as I ask when I ask. Do you understand?”
“Fuck no.”
My cuss pisses him off. He grips his belt so firmly it appears as if it is a weapon. “You are my wife, so you will do as I ask!”
“Since when?” His eyes trek me as I slowly back toward the door he stated is deadbolted, but he doesn’t move for me, which lays honesty to his claim. It won’t stop me from shouting for help, though. My mother can forget her moral obligations, but it will be harder for the man paid to protect me. “I’m fairly sure you have to agree to be someone’s wife. It isn’t a given.”
“It is when you paid a fortune for this.”
I can barely make out the font on the glossy white piece of paper he pulls off the bedside table, but the bold letters at the top are hard to miss.
Marriage Certificate.
And just below that are blurry letters that look oddly familiar to my name.
“That can’t be real.” I snatch the document out of his hand, uncaring that it rips. “I haven’t signed a single form in weeks.” My stomach gurgles when I recall our short flight to Rome. “She wouldn’t have…” My words trail off as I drift my eyes to the door my mother marched through. “She said it was a customs declaration.”
“Now that you know the truth”—the man mistaking himself for my husband drops his eyes to my dress—“remove your clothes and get on the bed.”
My hair barely tickles my shoulders when I shake my head before a brutal backhanded slap ends my denial.
As I raise my hand to my stinging cheek, he fists my hair before dragging me to the certificate he wants me to believe is authentic. “What does this say?”
“I-I can’t—” He rips at my hair so cruelly my scalp stings. "I can’t read black font on white paper. I’m dyslexic.”
His smirk isn’t on par with how other men respond when I say I’m dyslexic. “Then you’ll just have to take my word on what it says.” After dragging me across the room by my hair and tossing me onto the bed, he holds the marriage certificate out in front of him and drags his finger across it. “Bastian Fernandez and Natalya Lefevre married August twenty-third.”