Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I waited, practically holding my breath. Somehow, I knew whatever he was going to say was important.
His chin tilted down slightly as he stared at the concrete beneath our feet. His hands slid into the front pockets of his jeans, and unlike his brother, he stood so rigid and proud, like he was a rock in the desert. “There is another reason…but I can’t tell you what it is.”
18
Hades
I knew my wife respected me when she didn’t ask any questions.
We had returned to Florence, and I sat on the balcony, letting the darkness wrap around me like a warm blanket on a cold day. My elbow rested on the arm of the chair, my fingertips against my chin. Summer was officially over; fall was on the way.
Accepting the truth was like swallowing an enormous pill. It didn’t matter how much water I drank, I couldn’t get it down. I always got what I wanted, never stopped until I was a victor, but this time, I couldn’t win. Getting someone to obey you through force, torture, and money was easy. But getting someone to forgive you… That couldn’t be forced.
So, I failed.
Without my brother’s forgiveness, my life would be exactly the same. I would love a woman who would never love me back. Every day, my heart would grow for her, but hers would never change.
Fucking depressing.
But I had to accept it.
Loving a woman who didn’t love me back was better than not loving her at all.
I stared at the buildings across the street, trying to think of a way to get what I wanted, a way to convince my brother of my sincerity. But if Sofia couldn’t wear him down, then I never could.
The patio doors opened, and Sofia’s bare feet hit the Italian pavers. She was in a black nightdress, ready for bed, but she looked so sexy that it didn’t seem like she was ready to sleep. We hadn’t said much on the flight home, and ever since we’d been back, we continued to let the silence fester. She didn’t bombard me with questions. And I hardly said any words.
She glided toward me, the cold air making her nipples tighten through the silk material of her gown. Her long hair stretched past her shoulders, the curls coming loose after the long day we’d had. When she got to my side, her hand moved to my shoulder. With a woman’s touch, she gently rubbed my tight muscles and the warm skin at the back of my neck.
I didn’t change my position, but my fingers slowly moved to her thigh. The backs of my knuckles lightly brushed against her soft skin. Those subtle touches couldn’t convey all the emotions in my heart. I was just a man very much attracted to his wife. Little did she know I couldn’t stop touching her because I was obsessively, devotedly infatuated with her. I didn’t adore her just for her looks, didn’t worship her for her good soul. It was much more than that.
But I could never tell her that.
My hand grabbed the material of her dress and gave a slight tug. She lowered into my lap, both of her legs stretching over my thighs. My arms flexed as I scooped her closer to me, our faces so close that my nose practically touched her cheek. I took a deep breath as I inhaled her perfume, summer roses and white lilies. My hand rested on both of her knees because my hands were so large compared to her petite frame.
My lips lightly pressed against her cheek, a kiss so soft I wondered if she felt it. My mouth slowly moved to the shell of her ear, the back of her neck, and then along her jawline. I loved to kiss her just to kiss her. Didn’t have to go anywhere. Didn’t have to lead to sex. All I wanted was to adore her—because that was my right.
I was her husband—I should adore her.
Her arms moved around my neck as she turned her gaze to mine. Her makeup was gone, so her beautiful skin looked natural, real. When she stared at me like that, sometimes it seemed like she adored me as much as I adored her, like she couldn’t live without me the way I couldn’t live without her.
I looked into her eyes and somehow knew a question would erupt from her lips.
“Why can’t you tell me?” she whispered. She’d kept the question to herself for the last two days, but when the curiosity became too much, she cracked. Her left hand fell from my neck and drifted over my shoulder. Her palm flattened against my chest, as if she were trying to feel my heartbeat.
I dropped my gaze for just a moment, wishing I could tell her the truth, the whole truth. I wanted her to know everything, every feeling in my heart, every confession in my soul. I wanted her to know that we were meant to be together, that she was the only woman I wanted to be with—because she was the other half of my soul. “Because I can’t.”