Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
But looking at him now, I didn’t see violence.
I had to be careful, though. I couldn’t romanticize this thug. Couldn’t allow myself to be fooled by his appearance.
“Are you going to stare at me the entire flight?” he asked without looking up.
I blinked, realizing I’d been doing just that and it had not gone unnoticed.
“What does my grandfather owe you?”
He folded his paper and turned to me. “He didn’t mention anything?”
He acted so casual, but I knew he was not. “You know he didn’t.”
“Did you understand what was in the envelope?”
“I’m not stupid, Raphael. I understand what you want me to believe.”
“That your grandfather is a thief?”
I shook my head, not quite sure yet. Still processing. “The newspapers said you killed your father.”
He remained so still, it was as though he were carved from stone. It took him a full minute before he cleared his throat and spoke, and I knew there was more here than what I’d read online.
“Did they?”
I searched his eyes, like deep and stormy seas. Tumultuous waters that could pound me against jagged cliffs and decimate me.
“You told me you were giving me truth the other night. I’m asking for it now.” I paused. “You owe me the full story—”
“I owe you nothing,” he said calmly.
“Did your father set the fire? Was it proven?”
“The media loves to hype this shit up, don’t they?”
He flipped the paper open again and turned away from me, effectively dismissing me.
“You blamed him for your mother’s death,” I said, although I wasn’t sure. I’d only read newspaper articles and snippets of public record, most of which were missing.
“Does that absolve me, then? A life for a life?”
“I don’t know that you’re seeking absolution, Raphael.”
He looked at me again and bowed his head. “Clever girl.”
“The trial records have gone missing. I don’t know anything more.”
“Maybe that’s for the best.”
“You’d lost your mother a few months earlier. Your father was accused of the fire that nearly destroyed not only her home, but her entire legacy. Wiped out generations of history.”
“Don’t make a saint out of me. I’m not that.”
“I know you’re no saint. I just want to know what my grandfather has to do with this.”
He folded the paper again and this time, set it in the seat pocket. “If you’re so curious, then why didn’t you ask him?”
Because I was afraid of his answer.
I dropped my gaze.
“Don’t you have more relevant questions? Questions that pertain to you, your fate. My expectations of my wife?”
Wife.
I knew where he was going.
“Do I get a say in any of it?” I asked without thinking. “The contract,” I clarified, looking at him. “The marriage.” I faltered. “What will…” I cleared my throat. “Will it be in name only?” I forced the words.
His gaze swept over me, and a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You surprise me. What exactly has your dirty little mind been conjuring up, Sofia?”
I gasped, drawing back.
He smiled fully. “Well, what? I’m definitely curious about this.”
“No!”
As I felt the color drain from my face, the flight attendant came to take our drink orders.
“Champagne?” he asked.
“I’m eighteen,” I reminded stupidly.
He smiled. “Vodka, then.”
Was he joking? He turned to the server.
“Sparkling water for my fiancée and a whiskey neat for me, please.”
Fiancée.
“Going to Italy to get married?”
Raphael smiled nodded.
“Oh, how romantic! Congratulations!”
She must have seen the look on my face because she quickly cleared her throat and was gone.
“I’m not a beast, Sofia,” Raphael said, all playfulness gone from his features.
“But what you’re going to do to me…”
“I spent the last six years of my life behind bars. Your grandfather’s greed destroyed my family and almost destroyed me. Think about that instead of your petty little life for a change.”
“I—” I what? What did I want to say? That my life wasn’t petty? That I mattered? That I did think of other things and not only of myself?
“Ask me what it was like to be locked up for killing a murderer. Ask me what it was like to spend six years in prison only to have the verdict overturned.”
“Raphael—”
“Ask me.”
“I don’t need to. I imagine it was terrible.”
“Worse than you can imagine. Worse than I could have imagined.”
I searched his eyes, which had lost all their cockiness, all their coldness. There was room for neither, not with the pain that filled them. It was that moment that shifted things for me. That made me see him as something else, something other than a beast.
“Don’t make me pay for it. Please,” I said, my voice as small as I felt.
He only watched me, and I could see the battle behind his eyes. This war of good and evil.
“Don’t make a saint out of me. I’m not that.”
I shook my head at the memory of his words. No. I couldn’t do that. He’d warned me himself. I was an inexperienced girl. Raphael was a man. A man who’d killed. I was probably child’s play to him. A bore. He would probably just fuck with me to pass the time.