Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Papa’s nose wrinkles with disgust. “Why couldn’t you have been like your mother? My poor, missing Darya? Now that was a woman. So strong, powerful, and confident. She never would have stood there shaking like a pathetic small dog.”
I’m trembling with anger. I can’t believe it. He sold me to the Irish and didn’t even bother saying anything. And now he’s insulting me and comparing me to my impossibly perfect mother yet again.
How long was he going to wait before saying anything about this? Until the night before? When I couldn’t do much more than rage into my pillow before giving myself to a stranger forever? If it weren’t for Seamus, I’d never have known until it was too late.
But what does it matter?
In some ways, Papa’s right.
Telling me today or ten minutes before saying my vows won’t change anything. Because as much as I hate my family in this moment, I know what my duty is. I know what I have to do.
It’s what I was born for.
Even if this hurts and I hate the way my father takes every opportunity to remind me how unimportant I really am, I’ll still do as I’m told.
Because I always have.
Seamus was right, back on that call. That stuff with Alex was always just a distraction. It was a stupid game.
Now my real life has to begin.
So why do I feel like I’m falling apart?
Stiffly, I get to my feet. Papa watches, scowling. I know what he’s thinking. Here she goes again. Another emotional outburst. She’ll never live up to her mother’s memory.
He’s right. I won’t ever be half the woman my mother was. I want to scream in his face. My mother’s gone and I doubt she was ever half as amazing as he made her out to be my whole life. And he could have at least shown me the slightest bit of courtesy. Just a quick phone call. A text would’ve been enough to spare me the embarrassment of tit-bombing my future husband.
Instead, I hold myself upright, struggling to maintain my dignity the best I can.
“I understand, Papa,” I say, my voice steady while my hands tremble. “I’ll do what’s expected of me.”
“Good. That’s very good.” He looks away and lifts the remote. The TV clicks back on. Papa curses in Russian. “The fucking Yankees, I swear they lose on purpose sometimes.”
I linger for a moment, completely forgotten as my father berates his beloved baseball team, before slowly walking out into the hall.
Don’t crumble. Don’t fall apart.
Not yet at least.
“Alinochka? Is everything okay?” Katya follows as I walk back to the front door in a daze. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I say, and it sounds like my voice is coming from someone else. “Just a miscommunication.”
“You’re not getting married then?” The hope in her voice breaks my heart into a million pieces.
“No, Katyusha, I am definitely getting married.”
“Oh, dear—” She wraps me in a tight hug. It’s such a familiar feeling, her skinny arms squeezing me, but it doesn’t help at all. “I’m so sorry, Alinochka, I’m so, so sorry.”
I don’t cry. I don’t let myself. Not in this house, anyway.
I manage to make it back into the car before I finally crumble.
Chapter 3
Alina
It’s around nine at night when I get back to my building. I trudge into the lobby, not thinking or paying attention to anything around me. I’m floating on autopilot, looking forward to a warm bath, three glasses of decent wine, and a sleep so black it’s like falling into a void.
I might as well stay in a coma until my wedding. What’s the point of getting out of bed?
It’s not like anyone would notice.
“Alina.”
I flinch and look around. I’m halfway to the elevators, and there’s a man standing in the small waiting lobby behind me. I hadn’t noticed him before. The night desk clerk looks uncomfortable, watching from behind his security desk, as the big stranger steps forward.
I know those eyes. Pale blue, nearly gray. He’s much, much bigger than I thought in person. Still in that expensive black suit. Still with those muscles showing. Just a little bit of tanned and tattooed skin. His hands are huge, more like paws, and his voice is even nicer than I thought over the phone.
He’s beautiful. God, it hits me all at once. I’m not usually attracted to men like him, but there’s something about this monster. He holds himself with the air of a man who doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks, and right now, that’s the total opposite of me. He’s supremely confident and in control of every room he enters. While I’m slinking around and barely surviving.
Seamus Whelan tilts his head, studying me carefully, that sly smirk on his lips.
“What are you doing here!?” I blurt out, too emotionally raw and tired to be subtle.