Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Victor does that laugh again, the one that makes my tummy feel weird. “Gia, we’ve been fucking living together practically since the day I moved you into where you live now.”
“Oh, yeah,” I admit. He squeezes my hand again and I squeeze his back.
When I look up at Sam, he’s watching the two of us closely. “Sam? What are you thinking?”
“Angie, I realize I made a mistake and that our relationship was never meant to be romantic, but seeing this interaction and the way you yelled all night for another man when you are essentially my little sister is a little disturbing.”
“Ask me if I care, Sam,” I respond.
“Wait till tonight, Samuil. I’ll make sure she’s even louder,” Victor chimes in, making my eyes go round as dinner plates.
“I have suddenly developed a case of laryngitis,” I squeak.
“I’ve got a cure for that. A special medicine if you will,” Victor counters, cutting into his chicken. He looks up at me and gives me a wink. “It’s very creamy.”
My mouth drops open and Sam groans.
“Okay, let’s stop torturing Sam and get back to this house business. If we’re going to do this, I’d like it to be as close to Emmie as possible.”
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Victor agrees immediately. “I already have a list started to tell the realtor.”
“You do?”
“I’ve mentally added, close to Em and Callan’s home and now a large kitchen, so you can use a table if you desire, but no formal dining room.”
“Oh, okay,” I laugh, thinking he meant he already had a list created.
“I’ve added that to the one I’ve been compiling since the moment I knew you were going to be mine—which is from the moment I looked into your sparkling green eyes.”
I can’t catch my breath. I look at him, completely dumbfounded. “You couldn’t have made a list. We never discussed moving in together, Victor.”
“You told me what your perfect home would be. I committed it to memory. I made a list of needs to give to whoever we hired as a realtor. I did this before this grand scheme of Samuil’s ever came into play. The moment I agreed to a promotion, I made the list because I knew I wasn’t going to move without you by my side.”
“What’s on the list?” I breathe, my heart pounding.
He looks at me with a genuine smile and never falters. “A tall fence around the yard, but one you can see out of, so you don’t feel like you’re a prisoner. The house needs to be all one level with a basement beneath with big rooms. It should feel airy and spacious without being a home you get lost in. You want a big kitchen with a huge island. You want seats around it and a top where you can roll out cookies and decorate them with your babies. There should be an outdoor area big enough for family gatherings, a playground for at least five children, because you want three, but it’s best to be prepared. You want a designated nursery that you can change into an office once the babies are all grown, but you want them close when they’re born. You would like six bedrooms so—”
“So my children will always have their own space and never have to give it up no matter who is visiting,” I whisper, as tears run down my face.
“I’ve listened, Kitten. Even when you were deep in your misery. All those times I told you how beautiful you were, and you couldn’t see beyond your scar. The truth is I never saw it. All I’ve ever seen is the woman who owns my soul. You’ve always been it for me. I don’t have any doubts. I never have.”
I start to respond, but I have to close my mouth and gather myself before I try again.
“Victor?”
“Yeah, Gia?”
“Take me upstairs. I suddenly feel the need to be very, very loud.”
Victor immediately shoves his seat back and comes to me. He picks me up before I even have a chance to stand. I just hold on to him. I don’t look at Sam. This isn’t about him. This is about me and my soon-to-be fake husband. A husband that I suddenly wished wasn’t going to be fake, but very, very real.
angelina
. . .
I look in the mirror one last time, admiring my sleeveless silk wedding dress with a heart scooped top that accentuates my waist perfectly. It’s everything I’ve always wanted with a modest train in the back but shorter up front. It’s modern, but with a flair that screams vintage. I didn’t want a veil, so I have my hair in an updo that curls my red hair in perfect coiffed waves and a shining tiara to cap it off. My makeup is understated, and whereas, once upon a time, I would have tried to hide my scar, today I ignore it. My husband-to-be thinks I’m beautiful. Everything is perfect—if you don’t count that the priest isn’t really a priest, so I’ll be wearing Victorio’s ring on my finger, but it won’t really mean I’m his wife. Oh, and also forget about the fact that Abram, my former stepfather who had one of his men rape and maim me, plans on killing everyone I love today. I sigh.