Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“That’s not up to you to decide,” I argued.
His expression hardened, but he reluctantly nodded again. “Time,” he agreed. “But not too much time, wife. I’m not known for my patience.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I stopped myself. Of course he wasn’t a patient man.
I bet Adrian Salvatore never had to wait for something. He simply took what he wanted.
Adrian got off the bed, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he did. “So, have we reached an understanding?”
I took a deep breath and then exhaled. “Yes, we have.”
“Good,” he said, his expression morphing into arrogance and pride. “Now, I have business to attend to.”
“What business?” I asked, clutching the blanket tighter around me.
Adrian’s smile was sharp, dangerous. “The business of our marriage, of course. There are... expectations that must be met. Now that our union has been consummated, there are certain formalities that cannot be avoided.”
“Formalities?” I repeated, a sense of dread settling in my stomach.
“Indeed.” Adrian’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. “My father will want to know that the alliance has been properly sealed. That the bloodlines will continue. That there will be an heir.”
An heir.
The word hung in the air between us, heavy with implication.
I had known this was part of the arrangement, of course. Marriage in our world was never just about love or companionship.
It was about power, about legacy, about blood.
An heir.
His seed, my womb.
A child with both our bloods.
My heart lurched to my throat at the thought.
“How soon?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Adrian’s expression softened, just slightly. “Not immediately. But soon. The sooner we produce an heir, the more secure our position becomes.”
Our position. Not his position—ours. My chest tightened at the small distinction.
He turned to leave and my eyes found the marks I had left on his back from last night. Angry, red streaks marring his skin, evidence of the reckless moment between us.
My pulse stumbled at the sight.
“We may have reached an understanding but I still don’t trust you yet,” I whispered to his retreating back.
He paused at the door, turning his head so he could look at me over his shoulders. “That’s okay. We’ll get there eventually.”
Adrian left my bedroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Eventually, he had said.
My heart trembled.
Maybe never.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Adrian
I stood in the doorway, watching her for a moment before approaching the bed. Elizabeth’s blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, her hand gently rubbing the swell of her belly. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast golden shadows across her face, highlighting the small smile playing across her lips.
There was a genuine glow on her face, a gleam of true happiness. She was thriving in her pregnancy, thriving in the feeling of becoming a mother.
As if she had felt my presence, Elizabeth looked up from where she sat propped against the pillows, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. There was a softness to her features that had deepened with her pregnancy, a contentment I’d never seen in her eyes before.
“Is my son troubling you?” I asked, crossing the room to stand beside the bed.
She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “He’s very active today.” A soft laugh escaped her lips as she shifted position. “He’s been kicking a lot. A very rowdy little thing he is.”
I sat beside her on the edge of the bed, my hand instinctively moving to her stomach. The roundness of it fascinated me, this tangible evidence of what I’d created.
The warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown felt intimate, connecting me to the life growing inside her. A moment later, I felt it—a powerful, hard kick against my palm.
“He’s strong,” I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice as a smile spread across my face. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in my chest.
“Just like his father,” Elizabeth responded, her eyes meeting mine with that look I’d grown accustomed to, a mixture of affection and something else, something that made my chest tighten with guilt.
“I can’t wait for you to finally hold him,” she told me, placing her hand over mine, her voice soft with anticipation.
The words hit me with unexpected force. Only six weeks now. Six weeks until I could hold my son in my arms.
My son.
The thought still felt foreign, yet it was the only thing that had ever truly belonged to me.
I’d been counting the days, marking them off on the calendar in my mind. Less than forty days until I would have something that was unequivocally mine.
Not a possession to be taken away or used against me, but a part of me, a piece of my soul, that would exist in this world regardless of what I had done or the sins that stained my hands.
I barely remembered my mother.
My father was never truly a father to me.