Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Kind to you.” His eyes narrow, tension tightening his jaw and when he speaks, it's through clenched teeth. “Did he speak to you?”
“Well, no—”
“Did he look at you?”
“No, but—”
“Did he save you?”
My brows snap together. “What? No—”
“So how did he earn the title of savior?” He spits the word.
“Uh…” Did I call him that? I might have said it playfully, but I can’t think right now, not with Enzo coming closer, backing me up farther and farther.
“What did he do to earn a smile from you?” he presses, frustration rolling off him in waves.
What the hell is happening right now?
It makes no sense, and he keeps on coming.
“Tell me, is a warm cappuccino all it takes?”
My back hits the brick railing and his palms come down, resting against the space nearest my hips, his thumbs so close they brush my ribs. Goosebumps spread along my arms, and I press my lips into a firm line.
“If so, what will a double get me, hmm?” His face disappears into my neck without a moment’s notice, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gasping when his lips press over my pulse there. “A night in your bed, perhaps?”
My insides spark with heat, and I close my eyes, shifting to bury them in his hair to spare myself the humiliation of allowing others to see the reaction my body has to his nearness, even when the meaning behind his words is foul and degrading.
Liquid insides or not, he’s pissing me off, so I slide my hand in his dark locks and tug.
His low growl sweeps over me like warm satin, and when his heated gaze meets mine, I manage a small smile.
“Oh, Enzo,” I whisper, ignoring the way his eyes flare. “If only you knew how little the many men I’ve invited into my bed had to do to get there.”
Rage rattles in his chest, and he grips my hip hard. “You lie,” he hisses.
“You’ll never know.”
He grinds his teeth, his fingers digging into my skin.
“Should I come back?”
My spine straightens at the sound of Ann-Marie’s voice, and I push against Enzo’s chest, but he doesn’t budge.
He holds still, eyes on mine until another set of footsteps shuffle closer, and then another.
The harshness falls from his face in a blink, and he spins, an air of indifference painted across him.
“No need.” He hardly looks toward Ann-Marie, instead facing a woman with long brown hair and a nervous smile she keeps pointed at the ground. He holds a hand out in my direction, so I take my cue, stepping forward but not closer to him.
The minute my feet move, her smile snaps up to mine.
“Oh…oh, it’s Miss Revenaw!” She rushes forward, tensing when Enzo slides to the right, to keep her from getting too close to me. Her cheeks pinken, going giddy at his fake little act of protection, and squeezes a small binder against her chest. She sighs happily. “Miss Revenaw, forgive me. I had no idea you were the lucky lady. It’s a huge honor!”
Warmth slips into the cold crevasses of my chest, and I find myself returning her smile. “Thank you, um…”
“Call me Clair.” The woman is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I have taken Mr. Fikile’s orders and brought with me the best Fortune Flave has to offer.”
My brows lift. “You’re from the magazine.”
She nods again. “We reached out to Mr. Fikile last year sometime asking about a bachelor’s piece. He, of course, was far too busy, so when he returned our call to let us know he couldn’t because he wasn’t a bachelor, we begged for a chance to share the first photo of him and his new belle. That person being you is…beyond words.” She beams.
Literally beams, and a small flicker of pride blooms in my belly, and I am so curious to know which performance of mine she’s familiar with.
I dare a glance at Enzo, who regards me with a strange glint of…something.
“I have to ask.” Her excitement is contagious, and I nod encouragingly. “Do you think you’ll ever return to the Olympics?”
Just like that, the illusion that managed to invade my mind these last fifteen minutes clears, reality once again crisp and fucking clearer.
It’s humiliating from every standpoint. So much so, in fact, I can’t form the words to respond. Can’t meet the burning gaze of Enzo at my side.
I swallow the embarrassment and pretend I don’t give a shit people look at me and want so badly for me to be my twin, that that’s all they see. I can’t fault them for it, it’s only natural. What’s a prima ballerina have on a gold medalist anyway?
Not much.
I’m proud of my sister; I’m just not her.
Forcing myself to face the other woman witnessing this disaster, who may or may not be fucking the man who stole my wedding out from under me—the only thing that would have been mine to control in this contractual, sham of a marriage that I’m apparently supposed to pretend is real—I square my shoulders.