Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
But I drop it like it’s a hot stone. Because that’s not my life anymore. I’m no longer free and these dresses are a reminder of that fact.
I cross the massive room to the large dresser and stare at my reflection. I’m still in the jeans and T-shirt Mya gave me this morning. I sit down in front of the mirror and stare at my makeup-free face and windswept hair. I have no choice about being Beast’s fake fiancé. But I certainly have one about how I look when I’m doing it.
Sliding my fingers through the roots of my hair I start to mess it up even more so it looks like I’ve just rolled out of bed, then pull it up into a messy bun. Next, I rummage through the makeup bag Mya left on the dresser until I find the mascara and dab a little on my lashes. While it’s still wet, I smudge it beneath each eye, giving myself a subtle pair of panda eyes. Lastly, I pick at a tiny blemish on my chin, enough to make my skin pink.
Sitting back, I admire my handiwork with a smile.
I’m a mess and it’s perfect.
What I’m doing might seem immature and petty. But I need to regain some sense of control back and right now this is it.
Choosing how I look and what I wear is the only thing that stops me from feeling completely powerless.
There’s a knock at the door, and thinking it’s Beast I call out, “Come in if you’re gazillion feet tall and currently keeping me prisoner in your castle.”
But when the door opens it’s not Beast who walks in, it’s Mya. Shit. I will have to curb my need to be a smart ass in the future. If it was anyone else who wasn’t in on the charade then I could fuck this up, and that wouldn’t be very good for Uncle Maurice.
“Sorry, I thought you were Beast.”
Mya looks alarmed. “You’re not dressed.”
“I’m ready.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re wearing that?”
“Sure, why not?”
“You didn’t like the dresses I left on the bed for you?”
“They were gorgeous, thank you. But I’m more comfortable like this.”
“But we’re going to a party. Don’t you want to dress up and sparkle when you meet everyone?”
She’s so adorable. It almost makes me want to get dressed up just to please her.
But I have a point to make here.
If Beast wants a wife then he’s got one. But how she looks in public will be how she chooses.
“You know I’m not here because I want to be, right?”
Mya’s face falls. “You’re doing this to provoke him.”
“No, I’m doing this to show him that I can’t be bossed about. I might have to be here but I will do it on my terms.”
She sighs. “At least let me brush your hair.”
I mock gasp. “But it’s the piece de resistance of my outfit.”
“You look like Cinderella,” she says. “All that’s missing is the chimney soot.”
I give her a cheeky grin. “I mean, if you could arrange some that would be great.”
Mya rolls her eyes but grabs my hand. “Come on, we’re already late.”
“Beast isn’t taking me to the party?”
“No, he’s got some last minute club business to attend to. He’ll be joining the party later."
We leave the bedroom and walk through the castle toward the music. Metallica. “Enter Sandman”. As we get closer, the debauchery of what I’m about to walk into becomes apparent. Leaning up against the railing, a biker in a Knights cut is having his cock sucked by a girl wearing a bikini and heels. His head is tilted back as her mouth moves up and down his long cock. He’s groaning and muttering as he tugs on her hair.
Farther down the hallway, another biker has a girl in a short skirt pressed up against the wall. They’re kissing wildly, but it’s not until we get closer that I see she’s got one leg wrapped around his waist and he’s balls deep inside her. They’re too preoccupied to notice Mya and I as we walk past.
“Ready for your first Knights of St. Bon party?” Mya asks with a bright smile.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, stepping aside as two bikers tumble out the door leading into the bar. Drunk and laughing, one of them spills beer all over the jeans I’m wearing.
A beautiful woman with wild blonde curls appears behind them. “Sticky, you asshole, you just spilled your beer all over this young lady.”
The biker who must be called Sticky stops and turns to look at me. He sways on his feet as his glazed eyes sweep up and down my legs. “Well then, let me help you out of them, darlin’,” he slurs, taking two steps toward me, but then two steps sideways. He finally loses his footing and falls over.