Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Does the name Nicholai Orlov mean anything to you?”
Posey blinks. “No, should it?”
I tilt my head, studying her, running a finger along the bottom of my lip, watching her reaction to the name closely. “He might be the man smoking the cigar you smelled before the attack.”
“What does that mean?” Her eyes stay fixed on me, and I can see that she has no idea who the man is.
“It means he could have been the man who attacked you. I need to do a bit more digging, but it could very well be him. Has Bane ever mentioned a Russian he’s in business with?” Even though Bane thinks it’s one of his men, I won’t leave any stone unturned.
Posey shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“How much of his business does he share with you?”
She picks at her fingers in her lap. “Not much. Honestly, he doesn’t really tell me anything. Is that what you two talked about at your meeting? You owe me details.”
“Yes. He wanted to see how things were progressing with catching who attacked you.”
“Well, he doesn’t tell me anything.”
I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing just yet. It makes me wonder about their relationship, but it also makes me happy that she’s not mixed up in the middle of his business. That she’s not as evil as he is.
“Are you excited about the wedding?” I ask her, trying to get my mind to focus on anything but wanting to kiss her.
She smiles wide, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Very. I think we have most of the details in order. Bridgette, Bane’s assistant, has been helping me plan everything. Invitations go out soon. You’ll come, right?”
My heart nearly cracks in two at the mention of me attending her wedding. It’s the last place on Earth I’d rather be. I know I told her I’d go, but that was before this obsession threatened to consume me whole. “I don’t think so,” I say.
Her face falls. “Really? You said you would. You really won’t come?”
Is she kidding? “You can’t really ask me to come.”
“I thought we were friends. I need you there.”
I cross the room, taking a seat next to her. “Why?”
“Because I thought we were friends. I thought I meant something to you.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “If you want me there, I’ll try to be there.” There’s no way in fuck I’m going.
No way in hell.
Because I don’t trust myself not to be the person who speaks up when asked if anyone objects to their union.
I object. Big time.
However, my answer appears to make her happy, so I go with it.
We fill the time with idle chit chat, but there’s something nagging at the back of my mind. Why did she wear this dress for me?
Why does she want me at her wedding?
Either way, I push the thoughts from my mind and focus on her words. The way her tiny laughter fills the room, making my cock take notice.
“I found this one wedding dress I loved, but Bridgette thought it wasn’t classy enough.”
I raise a brow. “Classy enough?”
She grabs her phone, and taps at the screen. “Look,” she says, holding the phone up so I can see what she wants me to see. “Here’s the dress. What do you think?”
I take the phone from her hands and bring it closer, zeroing in on the picture of Posey in a wedding gown.
Wow.
I can’t turn away from the phone as I stare at Posey. The bodice hugs her body before cascading into a voluminous skirt that billows out in layers of tulle and organza. At her waist a slender satin baby-blue belt cinches gently, drawing my eyes to her perfect figure. There’re a few blue posies decorating the dress, and I focus on her face. She appears so happy in this picture.
Like she can’t wait to marry Bane.
I push the phone away, standing up. “Looks great.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks me, tucking her phone back into her tiny red clutch.
“Nothing,” I say, feeling suffocated in this tiny room. I can’t get far enough away from her. From her smell.
From her voice that floats over me, asking me what’s wrong. I can’t tell her that I’m jealous as fuck.
That I want to rip that wedding dress off her. That I want her to lower to her knees, apologize for making me feel this anguish. This despair of never being able to have her.
But I can’t say any of that.
I won’t say any of it. “I’m fine. Wear whatever dress you want. It’s your wedding. For fuck’s sake.” My tone is downright hostile, and Posey stands from the couch.
“Why are you so angry?”
I spin around to face her, stalking to her in three angry strides until we’re standing toe-to-toe. “I’m angry because you should get what you want. It’s your wedding. If you want to walk down the aisle in a white t-shirt and fucking pink tutu, you should be able to. It’s your day, nobody else’s. You’re the bride. You should get to do whatever you want.”