Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
The bastard. I start crying again and he hugs me with a sigh, and I’m supposed to hate him right now, but suddenly he shows a little bit of humanity and I melt down like I’m clay in his hands. He can do whatever he wants with me right now because I’m basically his to have and hold and keep.
I’m claimed. And married.
“Now, you need to get it together,” he whispers and kisses my eyes and cheeks, cleaning the tears from my face. “Otherwise, Albert’s going to freak out. He’s already unhappy with this situation, and remember, he’s the family’s lawyer. Not mine.”
“Why use him then?”
“I want Hugh to hear all about this.” He smirks and brushes hair from my face before kissing my lips, slowly this time, deeper than in the judge’s chambers. “Pull it together and read this damn thing.” He shoves the contract into my hands. “I’ll be back in five with everyone else.”
I nod, too confused and overwhelmed to argue, and he disappears outside. I’m left alone in the conference room with nothing but the buzz of the lights and the hum of the air conditioning and the windows overlooking a highway to keep me company. Cars flit past, the sunlight beats against the rocky landscape, and I try to picture my life with Kellen if none of this had happened, if Cait hadn’t died, if he hadn’t left his family, if I hadn’t fallen into a hole of self-loathing and been unable to climb back out.
It’s not hard to see it. A strange measure of happiness. I could have a family and friends. I could have a life. Yes, I’d be a mob wife, because Kellen would be in his family’s crime business no matter what, but at least there’d be warmth instead of this strange contractual coldness tinged by the white-hot fire of pure forbidden lust.
I lose myself in the language on the paper in front of me and try to let it distract me enough to calm down. Ghosts of Cait and Kellen and the me-that-could’ve-been flit into my brain, but by the time Albert and Finn come back in followed by my husband, I’m mostly back together again.
“Ready to sign?” Albert asks gently, smiling, and pushes a Coke across the table. I thank him, crack open the can, and take a sip.
“Ready.”
He walks me through everything patiently. I sign all the documents, Kellen signs and dates and initials, and when we’re done, we drift back through the building, get into the Range Rover, and leave Albert on the sidewalk. He waves like a little boy, looking lost.
My husband drives and Finn sits shotgun.
“Please don’t argue, but when we get back, I need you to pack your things.” Kellen doesn’t take his eyes off the road.
I frown up at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re going to want to argue. I’m asking you not to.”
“Argue about what?” My heart’s racing and I have a horrible feeling. I know where this is going, but I don’t want to follow the logic and actually hear him say the words I’m dreading so much. This is impossible, and if he thinks I’m going along with whatever he says just because he was nice to me for ten seconds in that conference room—
“When we get back to the estate, you’re going to come live with me, sleep in my room, and share my bed.” He doesn’t blink as he speaks, only stares straight ahead. “There will be no discussion, wife. You’re mine now, and you’ll act like it.”
Those words spell my end.
Chapter 12
Tara
Rory and Angus—another one of Kellen’s friends and fellow gangster-asshole—meet us back at the mansion and follow me to my cottage in theory to help me get my things together. “Try to pack light,” Rory says, grinning jovially. Angus seems much more subdued and laid-back and only watches me with a scowl. “I don’t think Kellen wants you bringing too much.”
“This place is a wreck,” Angus grumbles.
I glare at him and decide the grumpy one can be easily ignored.
“Great, I guess I’ll leave my entire shoe collection behind,” I say and roll my eyes as I start shoving clothes into a bag. “It’s not like I’m going too far away. I can always come back.”
“You can,” Rory agrees. “This little dump can be like your giant walk-in closet.”
“It’s not a dump, asshole,” I mumble, focusing on grabbing the necessities. Angus helps by making himself some tea and Rory follows me around, chatting the whole time. It takes about twenty minutes to get all my stuff together and the boys fortunately carry my bags for me, which is the extent of their “help.”
I’m sweating and trembling when we get into the main house, and practically apoplectic when we reach Kellen’s room.
“A lot nicer, huh?” Rory asks as he opens the door, and I hate to admit it, but he’s right.