Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
His admission reminds me of what he said on our video call when I suggested one final meeting. He told me I didn't know what I was asking of him, and as I unravel that thread, it becomes painfully obvious.
I always thought Cristian must have hated me from the beginning, but he only chose to reveal it once I was dating his best friend.
Now, I can see everything as it really happened.
I was with Cristian first. I just didn't know it. And after I ran away from him and ended up with Marco a year later, he had a good reason to resent me.
Him leaving the room every time Marco and I were together wasn't random. It was real hostility because he had to watch me with another man.
"Oh, God." The realization hollows out my stomach. "Cristian—"
Words fail me, because what can I possibly say? There's nothing I can do to fix it now.
I see it in real time as it registers on his face that he understands exactly what I'm thinking about. His jaw tightens, and something unreadable flickers in his eyes.
"I didn't know." The words tumble out, not remotely conveying what I'm feeling inside. "I wouldn't have done that if I'd known—"
"You weren't ready then," he answers quietly, leaving the second part unsaid.
He thinks I'm ready now, but he's wrong. And as everything finally sinks in, the crushing weight of that becomes all too clear.
There was a part of me that wanted it to be him, and I was relieved when it was. But it changes nothing. The reasons we could never work still exist. He doesn't know who I really am, or how much that could complicate his life.
This is why he was supposed to marry someone like Jolie.
"Cristian, we can’t do this—"
Before I can make my escape, he rolls over on top of me, caging me in with his arms.
"You aren't running away from me again." He brushes my hair back with a tenderness I don't deserve.
"This is a terrible idea," I choke out. "You have to know that."
"Enlighten me.”
I don’t know how to adequately express the gravity of this situation without revealing my identity, so I begin with the most obvious reason.
"We both know you're going to marry Jolie. I don't want to be your last whatever before you walk down the aisle."
"I'm not marrying her,” he says, as if the answer is just that simple.
"I saw you with her. She was all over you."
"Did you see me stop her?"
"No." I push the word past my dry lips.
"Well, I did. And have you heard confirmation of an engagement?"
"No," I admit.
"That's because there isn't one.”
"Okay, well it doesn't matter anyway," I tell him. "I don't do serious relationships—"
"You just let me come inside you," he reminds me. "That's practically a marriage contract in my world."
My stomach somersaults, and for one fleeting moment, I find myself imagining what that life would look like.
In that fantasy, my very dominant, hot-as-sin, protector of a husband wouldn’t care who I really was. This insane attraction would be enough to overcome that hurdle, and he’d spend every night inside me until we had an entire brood of children.
God, I would let this man put so many babies into me.
But reality isn’t that simple, and it’s not just because of the blood that runs through my veins.
“Everywhere you go, women want you,” I point out. “I could never trust you.”
A dry sound of amusement pulls from his chest as he shakes his head.
“Why is that funny?”
“You think I can’t control myself around other women?”
“I don’t know.” I swallow. “That’s the Mafia culture, isn’t it? A wife at home and a side piece when it suits you.”
“That would be convenient for you to write this off,” he says. “If you believed it.”
“So what?” I argue. “You’re the exception?”
“I’m not a liar or a cheat.” He presses the words against my ear. “And I haven’t been with anyone else in three years. Not since the first time I touched you.”
My heart thumps erratically as I try to wrap my head around that admission.
It doesn’t make sense. Cristian could have anyone. So why me?
Before I can conclude anything, he eases himself off me and tugs me up with him.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Getting cleaned up. I want to take you somewhere.”
21
CRISTIAN
“The red one.”
Chantel pauses mid-search through her closet to shoot me a look.
I arch a brow at her, daring her to say she doesn’t like it when I tell her what to do. She likes it so much, she doesn’t even realize she has a tell.
It’s a familiar pattern, the way her breath catches and she looks away, as if that could hide the rapid beat of her pulse.
In the beginning, it was something I wished I hadn’t noticed.
I had a plan for my life, and it didn’t include emotional entanglements. I’d seen the consequences of such relationships, particularly within my own family. I had no interest in being a willing captive to that affliction.