Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
The girl at the counter clears her throat and breaks the moment. She tells us our total and Radisson hands her the cash with torn knuckles that she also stares at with big eyes. Then he guides me to the changing rooms in the back and tells me to put on a fresh dress. And since he’s paranoid, he stands right outside the door. When I come out wearing my new dress, a light blue summer dress with spaghetti sleeves and embroidery, I find that he’s also changed but only his shirt. He probably did it out here, and I was right about the colors. The deep purple, almost black, plaid shirt I got him does bring out his eyes. I go to tell him that, but all my words go poof when I find those gorgeous eyes that look even shinier now running down the length of my body. My skin breaks out in goose bumps, and suddenly shy, I tuck my hair behind my ear and duck my head.
He grabs my elbow and tugs me to his hard body. “You did that for me.”
My breaths hiccup and I look up at him, knowing what he’s referring to. “That girl was being mean. Everyone is being so mean.”
At my words something softens in his features, but I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why he isn’t as angry as I am. Yes, he’s had a lot of time to get used to it, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how people treat him.
“I’m fine,” he says.
“Well, don’t be,” I shoot back. “You shouldn’t be. You should be beating everyone up who looks at you the wrong way. Hell, I’m fucking ready to beat everyone up. I—”
He tugs me even closer, pressing my body to his as he speaks over me. “Told you not to sully your pretty mouth for me, yeah?” Then, pulling me even closer, “And if you don’t wanna be mine, then stop being so goddamn fuckin’ sweet and givin’ me a toothache.”
Speechless, I swallow, and he watches me for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he ushers me out of the store and we go to our next stop. The hardware store, followed by the bank where he withdraws cash out of his account. The same thing happens: People stare at him and his scar, and I sidle as close to him as possible, telling them all with my gestures that I’m proud to be at this man’s side.
So it isn’t until we make it to the grocery store that I get the chance to run.
We’re in the cereal aisle when I say, “Oh, can I go get the juice I like?”
Without looking away from the shelf, he replies, “I’ll get it.”
“It’s just over there,” I tell him, my heart slamming in my chest. “Uh, two aisles over. In the refrigerated section. I’ll be back in a second.”
“No.”
I fist my fingers, try to calm my breaths. Then, as casually as I can, “If I’m not back within two minutes, you can come look for me.”
At last he looks away from the shelf, and for some crazy reason, I look into the cart he’s been pushing around. Every single thing in there is my favorite. My favorite cheese, my favorite cereal, my favorite brand of cookies, the kind of bread I like, the strawberry jelly I love. I wasn’t even paying attention because I knew this was the only chance I had to run away from him, but he filled the cart with everything I like. It makes me want to ask, what about him? What are some of the things he likes? What’s his favorite juice? Does he like cheese?
God, it’s so stupid in the face of everything that’s happening, but I can’t deny I want to know. I know this man’s deepest, darkest secrets; I know he’s killed people; I know the pain he lives with, but I also want to know all the little things about him. This is why I have to run. I can’t be with him. He makes me think of crazy things. He makes me hope for crazy things. Things like forever shopping for clothes together, forever going to a grocery store and picking out each other’s favorite things. Like him diving in front of flying bullets for me while I tie myself up for our enemies to take me so they spare him. He makes me think about pressing close to his side when people are being assholes and kissing him in front of the whole wide world to shut them up.
And I can’t do that.
People are depending on me. My mother is depending on me. For years, I thought my future was set, my fate decided. I was supposed to do whatever my father told me to so I could protect my mother. I was supposed to go out on dates with all these disgusting men until my dad found me a suitable match. I was supposed to marry the match, be a superficial society wife like everyone seems to think my mom is. College was a reprieve. Living in the city with Reverie was a reprieve. Being watched by a green-eyed, masked stranger was a reprieve. And I had made my peace with it because it was all for a good cause, for my mom.