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)
“Choosing passion after all?” Bastien eyes me curiously.
I give him a subtle nod.
“A bold choice.” He studies Chantel, and for a moment, I can see that he gets it.
I don’t doubt that he’s wondering how his life might have turned out if he’d never let go of his first choice. For all his efforts of convincing me that compatibility was what mattered, I realize now that story was never for my benefit. He needed to believe it himself.
“I respect your honesty,” he says finally. “If this is what you’ve chosen, I can only say that I hope she’s worth it.”
I feel Chantel’s gaze on me as I nod, and he bids us a clipped goodbye.
“Cristian?” Chantel searches my eyes. “What did you just do?”
“Not here.” I lead her through the crowd and down the narrow side deck until we reach the empty bow.
As soon as we’re alone, she pulls away. “Are you insane?”
“Occasionally.”
“This isn’t the time for sarcasm,” she huffs.
I reclaim the distance between us, wrapping my arm around her waist as I tip her chin up. “You started this game, Mrs. Vitale.”
“As a joke.” She lets out a shaky breath. “That didn’t feel like a joke.”
“Consider it me easing you into the idea.”
“You just told that man I’m going to be your wife in front of an entire audience,” she says. “If that’s easing me in, do I want to know what the alternative was?”
“Probably not.”
My gaze drops to her lips, and the thought of her imprint on my cock makes me hard all over again. I’m tempted to fuck her right here, but I have other plans for tonight.
Threading my fingers through her hair, I wind it around my fist and angle her head back. Her pulse thrums as my lips coast over the delicate column of her throat, breathing in the sweet scent of lemon and vanilla.
“You know I can’t marry you,” she says breathlessly.
“Can you stop talking?” I nip at her. “I’m busy.”
She clutches the lapels of my suit, a soft hum of pleasure spilling from her lips. “Are you going to finish what you started earlier?”
I’m about three seconds away from considering it when my sister interrupts us.
“Anyone care to tell me how long this has been going on?”
Chantel straightens, peering around me as she smooths out her dress and offers Mariella a contrite look.
“It’s complicated—” She begins. “I wasn’t hiding it from you, I swear. I just found out that he’s…Bran.”
Mariella’s face morphs from confusion to shock as she processes that.
“Oh god,” she groans. “You’re the masked man from Sanctum?”
“Been talking about me?” I slide a possessive hand around Chantel’s back.
“This is so weird,” Mariella mutters. “I need a drink.”
“I’ll come with you,” Chantel volunteers.
When she glances up at me, there’s an edge of uncertainty in her eyes as she waits for my reaction. It’s a natural response for her, bracing for the inevitable fallout that will come when she makes a decision for herself. At some point, she was under someone’s control, and her body hasn’t forgotten what that felt like.
I’m aware that every one of these moments with her is a test. Just like that night at Black Velvet when she watched Tiffany offer herself up to me, Chantel expects the worst. It makes it easy for her to keep up her defenses, because there’s a high likelihood that most people will fail her. Humans are predictable that way.
But I haven’t come this far with her because I’m short on self-control, and there’s something else I need to handle anyway.
“I’ll be here when you’re done.” I press a kiss into her hair and release her.
She lingers there for a moment, searching my eyes for something she won’t find.
Mariella watches the interaction, brows creasing as something seems to occur to her.
“Dammit,” she whispers under her breath.
“What?” Chantel asks.
“I’m going to owe Nonna bragging rights until the end of time.”
Chantel joins her, and the two of them drift away, discussing Nonna’s infallible betting streak. Once they’re out of sight, I turn my attention to the shadow lurking around the corner.
“You can come out now.”
Marco steps into view, looking very much like a man who has nothing left to lose. A few years ago, I would have felt compelled to help him. Now, allowing him to breathe for another hour feels too generous.
“I always knew you were a traitor,” he spits. “I should kill you for this.”
“I welcome you to try.”
He’s drunk enough that I think he might, which would be a first, considering he’s never dirtied his hands a day in his life.
“How long have you been fucking her?”
“That isn’t your concern,” I tell him. “She was never yours.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means exactly what you think it does. You laid hands on her, and now you’ve lost the privilege to breathe.”
“Fuck you.” He charges at me, lobbing a sloppy punch at my head.