Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“I know.” I wring my hands. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you now.”
“If you need more money, the answer is no.”
That cuts a little, seeing that I’ve never asked him for anything, not for a dress or a pair of shoes. Not that I lack clothes, make-up, or jewelry. “I don’t need money.”
“Then tell your mother. It’s her job to get you what you need.”
I almost chicken out, but I have to be brave. I have to show my father that I won’t back down and that I’m not scared to stand up for myself. He can’t force me to do what I don’t want to.
“I want to talk to you about the marriage contract.”
“This again?” He rubs his brow. “I’m not wasting my breath by giving you the same answer. My patience is wearing thin, Tatiana, and you don’t want to test it.”
Squaring my shoulders, I say, “I can’t marry Joni Stein.”
My father goes still. Not a muscle moves in his face. The only sound in the room is the ticking of the grandfather clock and finally, the creaking of his leather chair as he leans forward and pins me with a look. “What did you say to me?”
My father is scary when he’s angry, but I don’t waver under his glowering stare. “I’m pregnant. I can’t marry Mr. Stein.”
There, I’ve dropped the bomb. It’s done.
I heave a sigh of relief as a weight lifts off my shoulders.
If the silence of earlier was uncomfortable, now it’s stifling. My father rises from his chair, straightening until he towers like a giant over me. I expected his ire, so I stay put when he rounds his desk. I stand my ground even though he looks at me as if he wants to crush me like a bug under his shoe, as if I’m a filthy disease he wants to wipe away.
“You little whore.” Nostrils flaring, he reaches out and grabs me by the long strands of my hair. “You dirty fucking slut.”
This, I didn’t expect. He’s never laid a finger on me.
Too late, I try to bolt, to run for the door, but he yanks me back by my hair. Stinging pain assaults my scalp. I grab his wrist, trying to relieve the pull, but my attempt is useless. He drags me with little effort to the fireplace.
Holding me fast in one hand, he takes the old horsewhip that belonged to his great-grandfather from the hook where it’s displayed next to his grandfather’s sword on the mantlepiece.
“His name.” He forces me to my knees. “What’s his name?” His complexion has gone bright red, glowing like the coals in the fireplace. Fumes of alcohol land with spittle on my face. “I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”
“No, please.” I shake in his hold, my eyes watering from how hard he’s fisting my hair. “Father, stop.”
He shakes me. “What is his name?”
“No.” I start crying, cupping my hands over my stomach in an instinctive reaction to protect my baby. “Don’t do this.”
“His fucking name,” my father yells. “Or I’ll beat it out of you.”
“I love him,” I sob.
That’s when something flips inside him. I see it in his eyes. He pushes me down until my face hits the carpet, keeping me in place with a shoe on my nape.
A swoosh breaks the pregnant second of silence that follows. Pain like I’ve never felt lashes over my back and burns into my skin. My body curls into itself, my fingers forming involuntary claws. It feels as if the fabric of my dress melts into my flesh. The burn refuses to stop. It goes on and on, stealing my breath. The pain is so vicious it kills my scream, trapping the sound before it can reach my lips.
Swoosh.
“What is his name?”
My lungs collapse. I try to crawl away, but my father increases the pressure of his shoe on my neck. I think he may break it.
Swoosh.
“His fucking name!”
Finally, my body processes the worst of the shock. My lungs start functioning again, letting in air. The sound stuck in my chest breaks free. It shocks me. It’s a horrible sound that belongs to a wild animal.
Swoosh.
“I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t give me his name. Tell me who he is so I can torture that son of a bitch to death.”
Never. I’ll never betray Dante as long as I live. Sobs rack my body. I love him too much. I refuse to let my father kill him, and if I give him a name, I know he will. I’d suffer this pain ten times over before I let anything happen to Dante.
My father doesn’t stop. The lashes keep coming, each one more punishing than the last. I scream myself hoarse, fighting to get away, but my father is a bulk of a man more than four times my weight.