Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“You’re crying out of anger. You hate that he did it, I know. You’re trying to drown it out with the tequila, but it won’t work. The truth will always be there. You wanted to see the good in him, but he was no good for you.” I watch his eyes, how they soften for me when he speaks. “It had to happen that way. It is unfortunate, but I don’t regret anything except the fact that I wasn’t there to save your father myself. Had I known it was you he was marrying, I would have cut that shit off before you even fell for him.”
“I thought it was going to be a perfect day. One I would never forget,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“You will get plenty of perfect days with me, you understand?” He grips me tighter. “I will give you the world, Gianna, because you are mine, and you always have been. You just didn’t know it yet.”
I bob my head, silence consuming me for several seconds. “I’m sorry he did that to your dad.”
“Don’t stress about it.”
“If I knew his plans I never would have agreed to marry him.” Anger laces my voice now, just thinking of all the times he probably sat around, plotting ways to kill Daddy.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t have. But it happened. It’s done. All we have is us and now. There is a target on both of our backs, so we might as well fucking live, niñita, hmm?” His mouth touches my cheek, a soft, damp kiss as he tips my chin. “You hear me?”
I nod, locking eyes with him. “Yes, Draco. I hear you.” I put on a subtle smile. “We live.”
13
Whatever this is between Draco and me has been hard to deny. A part of me still doesn’t trust him, yet another part of me—a dark, secret ounce of me—longs for every inch of him.
I want to avoid that part of me, sinking too deep and falling for him. It will be just like how I fell for Toni. A man I thought I knew, but hardly knew anything about at all.
There’s a lot about Draco that I still don’t know.
I want to question why Draco leaves during the middle of the day and returns a little more frustrated than when he left. When he’s locked himself away in his galería, I want to know what he’s painting. Is it another photo of blood? A massacre? None of his paintings are gentle on the eyes. All of them, I’ve noticed, are filled with colors of red, black, and other dark, ominous hues.
Four days have passed, and we’ve still continued to fuck and taunt and tease. He seems to enjoy that. And I know as long as I give myself to him, then I can get whatever I want. Just yesterday, he had Patanza deliver a typewriter to the library for me. To my surprise, it came in the color red. Daddy’s favorite color. I can’t help but wonder if he knew that small fact or if he got it in red by chance.
I started typing on it the same day it was given to me, half-watching, half-typing as the sun fell and kissed the horizon. At dinner, I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He wanted to smile, I could tell, but he didn’t. He held on to his cold, hard look, digging right into his meal. As he chewed and Mrs. Molina started speaking, I spotted the faint smirk tugging at his lips though.
He couldn’t fool me.
When I wake up today, he isn’t in bed. I gaze around the bedroom, sighing as I stare at the ceiling fan whirling rapidly. It’s hot today. Even with the fan on, I can feel my hair sticking to the nape of my neck.
Why the hell isn’t the A/C on?
I push out of bed, walking to the window. The sun is high in the sky. It seems much closer today, blazing down on everything it can touch.
Turning toward the bathroom, I start up the shower, making sure it’s colder than my average temperature. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not usually this hot in here.
Once finished, I get dressed in a black tank top and khaki shorts, slip my feet into a pair of black leather flip flops, and march out the door. Patanza is standing on the other side of the door and when she spots me, she turns fully. Sweat is misting her forehead, her cleavage, and the skin she has revealed at her belly. Her hair is in a ponytail, the ends damp with sweat.
“What’s going on with the air?” I ask, peering down the hallway when I hear noises.
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “Jefe called someone in to fix it. This house is old. Stupid thing always goes out around this time of year.” She swipes her neck with the towel she normally carries in her back pocket.