Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Chapter 3
Aria
“You okay?” Jase asks me as we stand in the foyer of the Cross estate. Everyone was silent on the ride over here. Cars escorted ours in front and back, even on the sides when the road was wide enough. The security detail was hovering close around me, but it seemed more like guarding a prisoner than protecting an ally. Every minute that passed made me feel more and more like I didn’t belong.
It made me feel like I’d made a mistake not leaving when I could have.
“Hey, you okay?” Jase asks me again as the men filter out of the foyer.
“You sure you should be talking to me?” I ask him in return and his huff of a laugh soothes a small part of my broken spirit. Without a doubt, I’ve fallen for Carter, but it wasn’t until today that I realized how much I love his family too. Even while coated in the blood of my own family.
“It’s tense, but everything will be all right.”
“I don’t know how you can think that,” I answer him and my voice cracks. I know the men departing must hear how weak I am, and I hate it. This isn’t the woman I want to be. Clearing my throat and focusing on the one thing I can confide in Jase about, I tell him, “He’s angry with me.”
“He was worried, Aria. We all were. We thought those men took you.” It takes me a moment to realize what he’s saying, to realize what Carter must’ve felt and guilt and insecurity weigh heavily against my chest.
So guilty. What have I done to bear all this guilt that has seeped into my gut?
“Besides, Carter’s always angry.” Jase tries to joke, to lighten the pain of what happened tonight. It doesn’t help me though. There’s nothing in this world that can help me now.
“I thought things were different,” I whisper. But I didn’t know this would happen. Deep down I knew it was coming, although I wanted to deny it. It’s all coming to a head and I know I’m going to hate the outcome either way. There was never a thing that could have helped me. Not a damn thing that would have saved me. I’m a woman born to breed pain and misery. My last name demands it.
“We’re still at war. A single battle was fought and men on both sides died. It’s going to cause tension.”
“Tension,” I scoff, although it’s not meant to come out in an offensive way. It’s just that tension isn’t a strong enough word to describe the animosity and uncertainty stretching the space between us. The pure agony stifling both of us.
“Aren’t you the one who called us the enemy?” Jase asks, reminding me of the words I told Eli only hours before his death. The memory sends a trickle of regret down my spine.
“Is that not what we are?” I ask him back in a low breath, peering into his eyes and wishing he would tell me otherwise. Even if it is a lie.
A beat passes, and there’s nothing but silence. I wonder vaguely if the other men can hear. Or if Carter is maybe listening. If he even cares to listen at this point. He didn’t speak a word to me in the car. He sat in the front, not in the back with me.
Jase only nods solemnly but squeezes my hand, then adds, “Falling in love with the enemy is torture.” With a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, he lets go. I’m forced to watch him leave me, walking down the foyer, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall until my gaze lands on the photograph at the very end. The black-and-white shot of a house that feels as if it’s lingered in the back of my mind. The importance of it, my thoughts long to remember.
If I had a choice, I’d go there now, just to see why the image haunts me. It has to do with Carter, I know it does. And I need to know anything and everything that has to do with Carter.
Our families and pride may be at war, but not my heart. My heart belongs to him. I know it with everything in me. It’s why I could never leave him, even if the option was handed to me so easily.
But in this moment, it feels as if he’s ripped it from my chest and thrown it out in the cold, leaving it there to die. Covered in my family’s blood and ripping me from the doorway, slamming it shut and screaming at me as if I’m a fool wasn’t at all what I expected.
Whatever point he wanted to make in front of his men, I’m sure they heard it loud and clear.
He doesn’t love me.
How many times have I said, “I love you,” to him and I was given nothing in return?