Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
There is no saving my hair or face right now.
I have sleep lines from the pillow, and bedhead. It looks like I just had sex. Since I didn’t, it’s not a good look for me.
Quickly, I brush my teeth and run the brush through my hair. Since I still have to shower, I throw a robe on and head to the door. Unlocking it, I open it and poke my head out.
“Hey, I just need to get in the shower real fast.”
His green eyes stare at me, and like usual, it appears there are many words hidden behind them. “I’d like to take you to the city today.”
I must look shocked because he smiles at me, a little lopsided grin that makes my heart stop, even if just for a second.
A damn smile on a damn man I cannot seem to read and who is giving me mixed signals every single day.
I try to tell it to stop, but it’s a damn traitorous muscle, and it won’t listen to me.
Yes, he’s attractive, and yes, he’s my husband, but I cannot get those two things confused.
I can’t catch feelings.
Not when there are so many unknown variables.
“I’d love that. How much time do I have?”
“How much time do you need?”
“Thirty minutes.”
His eyes go wide at my answer. “That’s fast.”
I shrug. “I’m not high maintenance.”
“I like that about you.”
If it’s not bad enough that he is gorgeous, now he has to say stuff like that. Cue the freaking butterflies in my stomach.
Great.
Just freaking great.
I’m attracted to my husband. Hell, by the way my body reacts to him, it’s more than that. It feels like I’m sucker punched when I realize it’s much more than that.
In the course of only a few days, I realize I actually like him.
I have a crush on my husband.
This is bad.
I need air, so walking the New York City streets might be exactly what is necessary right now. Maybe he will be a huge dick, and these insane flutters will stop.
Or maybe it will be worse.
I shake my head and decide to stop daydreaming about how the day will go and just live.
Thirty minutes later, we sit silently together in the car.
I was mildly surprised when he didn’t insist that I cover my eyes while we drove out of the compound.
He didn’t, but seeing as though when we were passing through the gates, I noticed the men standing with guns at the checkpoints and from lookout towers; I realize that even if I had directions, no one would make it into this place alive.
It should scare me, but it doesn’t. Instead, it makes me feel safe.
I’m not sure what that means for me or about me, but I’m pretty sure it’s not normal.
I also realize that, technically, if he wanted to lock me in this place, I would have no way out. Luckily for me, that’s not the case.
As much of a monster as he makes himself out to be, in the grand scheme of all the men in my life, he’s really not that bad.
It’s almost like he’s my dark hero.
I won’t tell him that. Knowing him, he’d probably shoot one of his men just to prove me wrong.
No, that’s not true. I’m being too hard on him.
As rough around the edges as he is, he has proven multiple times that he’s not that bad. It’s not surprising that we don’t speak during the duration of our drive. But once we cross over the bridge that leads into the city, he turns to me.
“What do you want to do first?”
“I have choices?”
“All the choices in the world, sweetheart. This day is about you.”
His words stun me. When he said we were going into the city, I assumed we were going to be staying at his other home.
“Can we eat?”
“I’m sorry, I forgot that you didn’t eat anything this morning. You must be starving.”
His brows pull together. He’s clearly upset that he didn’t take me into account.
“It’s really not a big deal. In college, I never ate.” That makes him squint at me.
“Really?”
“Yes, didn’t you ever pull an all-nighter studying and forget to eat?” I ask him.
He looks at me like I’m insane, green eyes wide.
“No.”
“Did you . . .?” I trail off, not knowing how to broach this topic. “Did you go to college?”
He chuckles. “Of course, I went to college, Viviana.”
“Oh, I just figured . . .”
“The School of Hard Knocks.”
I stop. Stare at him. He lets out a roar of a laughter that makes my chest feel fuzzy.
“Yale,” he supplies. “You figured since I run the mafia that I’m an idiot.”
Great, Viviana. Just great. Here he is, offering me an olive branch of peace to make our co-existence better, and I’ve insulted him left and right.
“That was presumptuous of me.”
“No, sweetheart, it was natural of you. I’m not mad. And the truth is, it’s okay. Most of the men in my family didn’t go to school, my father included. But he insisted the world was changing, and I needed to be well-versed in life and books in order to adapt to the change. Adapt or die, he used to say.”