Total pages in book: 331
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Eve seems to be herself again—hating me. Like I give a fuck. I feel a little hatred is a good foundation for a relationship. If she doesn’t want to kill me daily, then I don’t want it.
A woman like Everett needs to be challenged, and I’m more than willing to do that. I can get her past the hatred and self-doubt she hides when no one is looking.
It will just take time and reassurance. She spent last night downstairs in the basement in her rage room breaking shit, and I let her. I haven’t tried to touch her sexually since I found her crying. Even I know you can’t rush these things. She needs to work through her feelings. It was the first time she hadn’t thrown up after I fucked her. Baby steps.
I pull up to her house and get out of my car, grabbing what I need from my passenger seat. I left this morning to go pick up some things she’s going to need. Entering, I hear “Never Too Late” by Three Days Grace blaring from her bedroom.
Making my way down the hall, I walk in, placing the bags on her bed, and stop in the doorway of her bathroom, silently watching her stand at the counter, looking at herself in the mirror. She didn’t hear me enter over the music.
She’s getting ready for our date. It’s my first time announcing her as mine to our world. No one knows that we’re going together. I want to see how they react to my girl. That way I can make sure to keep her from the ones who seem threatened after what they’ve been told.
I openly gawk at what’s mine without shame. Her hair is fixed in a bun at the nape of her neck, just like it was the night I saw her on the Isabella. Seeing it gives me a pain in my chest. Those six years without her feel wasted. Would things be different if I had not let her run from me that night? I’ll never know. But a part of me tells me that what we could have had and what our future holds are two very different things.
The song comes to an end and “Wonderland” by Natalia Kills begins to play. She turns to walk into her bedroom but stops when she sees me blocking the doorway.
Her eyes immediately drop to the floor, and my hands fist at how her reaction is to avert her gaze. I want to put a posture collar around her delicate neck so she has to keep her head up and eyes on mine at all times. She makes herself small, and I don’t understand why.
The woman is a walking contradiction. She’s so strong and feisty in some aspects of her life and the complete opposite in others.
It’s her training. Something that was probably beaten into her. No amount of time can change that mentality.
I enter the bathroom and place my hand under her chin, forcing her head up. My eyes look over her perfect face. She’s got thin black liner around her gorgeous eyes, making the green pop. Her lips are a nude glossy color and her cheeks a light pink. Her lashes are painted black with a shimmering shadow.
She’s stunning.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asks.
“Long enough.” I answer
She huffs, looking away, and I drop my hand. “Come here.” I pull her into the bedroom.
She glances at the garment bag lying across her bed, and I pick up her phone, turning off the music so we can hear each other talk. “What is this for?”
“It’s your dress for tonight.”
Looking up at me, she gives me a death glare that I much prefer to the sadness. “Kashton, I don’t need you to get me a dress.”
“I know.” I couldn’t resist. I want everyone to know she’s my girl tonight. She’ll be on my arm, wearing my dress. Soon she’ll have my last name and will be wearing my ring.
Reaching down, I unzip the bag and remove the contents, holding it out for her to see.
She swallows nervously while looking over it.
“I’ll give you a moment.” I lay the dress down and then kiss her forehead before stepping out of her room and closing the door behind me.
EVERETT
I stare down at the royal-blue dress, conflicted. It’s beautiful, but it’s a way of making me his doll—dressing me how he wants. Just to parade me around to his brothers. Show off what he’s been playing with.
It makes me want to vomit. But isn’t this what I’ve wanted? To belong to someone?
I’m confused. Torn between wanting to be alone and wanting to be someone’s world.
I keep reminding myself that he’s not like the others. He holds me afterward. He assures me that he’s proud of me. But then again, it could simply be another form of manipulation. I feel like I’m going insane with my intense mood swings and inconsistent thoughts.