Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Was it weak, leaving that wife alive? Am I going soft, all because I was gentle with my virgin bride?
Better to harden myself and hold tight to my black heart.
If I lose my edge, I’ve only got myself to blame.
Chapter 13
Dasha
“Delivery for you.” Vito stands a few respectful feet away in the hall and gestures toward the stairs. Two big, burly guys are lugging a brand new couch wrapped in protective blankets toward the landing.
“Can they leave it out there?” I whisper to him, heart beating quickly all of a sudden. I really don’t like the thought of two strange men coming into my space. I can barely stand having Vito around, and he’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
“I doubt you can move it,” he whispers back, eyebrows raised. “Do you want to go into your room? I’ll personally supervise them.”
“I think that would work.”
He nods seriously. “Very good. Go ahead. I have more packages for you as well, but I can manage to bring them up. I’m not that old.”
I grimace, guilt hammering me. This poor man is going to lug my decorative vases and stupid vintage trinkets up those steps with his bad knees and aching back. All because I’m too crazy to come out and help.
I’m about to tell him I can handle it when the two delivery guys come toward us. I give Vito a pathetic, thankful smile and run the hell away.
I slam the bedroom door shut and collapse into bed.
I’m so freaking weak, and I hate myself for it.
Why can’t I just be normal? Those two moving guys aren’t going to hurt me in my own freaking house, not with like ten guards lurking around nearby. Tigran probably searched everyone for weapons straight down to all their cavities before letting them inside.
What’s wrong with me?
I’ve been asking myself these questions for years. I didn’t want to be like this. Back when I was younger, I thought I’d outgrow it. Maybe one day I’d get over the fear, face the world, and start being a normal human being.
It never happened. Instead, I’m just a pathetic creep.
A weird little hermit, afraid of her own shadow.
I hear the movers talking to Vito in the other room. They’re bumping around, probably rearranging things to fit the couch and getting rid of the old one. I curl into myself, struggling against the panic knowing that there are big, strange men lurking in my private room, and that’s when I smell it.
The pillow Tigran used the night before.
It still smells like him. Vaguely, but definitely there. Spicy and masculine. A strange sense of calm lowers over me as I pull the pillow to my chest and hug it tightly.
What the hell is happening right now?
I’m spooning the pillow like it’s my arranged husband, and somehow, it’s keeping my panic attack at bay. All because it smells like some guy I was forced to marry.
I close my eyes and steady my breathing. Somehow, thinking about the way Tigran held me after we had sex makes my heart rate slow down. I had expected him to get the hell out of there after doing his duty. I assumed he’d fuck me without much concern for my pleasure or anything like that, come inside me, and then disappear. Simple and workmanlike.
Instead, it was intimate. It wasn’t at all what I expected.
His mouth. His skin. His cock between my legs. My moans, my orgasm.
His arms around me until I fell asleep. He was gone when I woke up hours later just before dawn, but his side of the bed was still warm, like he imprinted himself on my sheets.
How the hell did any of that happen?
There’s a knock at my bedroom door. I yelp and sit up, only realizing after a beat that I don’t hear voices or movement anymore.
“Dasha, they’re gone.” Vito’s voice in the hallway. “I’ll bring up your other packages if you’d like.”
I leap out of bed and toss the surrogate Tigran pillow away, feeling foolish and silly. I yank the door open and face the old, smiling man.
“I’ll come down and help.”
His eyebrows lift. “That’s not necessary. Really—”
“I’m not going to let you strain yourself just because I want to redecorate my room.” I march past him and stop when I catch sight of the couch.
It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted. Gray fabric with big comfy pillows in a mid-century style. The kind of couch that looks good but will also feel like a freaking cocoon when I burrow into it.
“A nice choice,” Vito says, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m sure Tigran will like it as well.”
Color fills my cheeks. I raise my chin, straightening my spine. “Assuming I ever let him in my room.”
Vito laughs and shakes his head. “Modern marriages. I’ll never understand them. Are you coming? Don’t feel obligated, my dear.”