Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Simon recovers himself. He steps forward, practically dragging me along with him, and his fingers tighten against my back.
“Father, meet Emily.” I give him my best smile, but I’m betting I look absolutely deranged right now. This is beyond uncomfortable. “Emily and I got married.”
His father slowly lowers the papers and places them back on the desk. He takes off his glasses, rubs his face, and puts them back on before leaning forward on his elbows.
“I’m sorry, son, I think I misunderstood you. Did you just say that you married this girl?”
Oh, god. I expected this to be bad—but this is even worse than I imagined. His father is looking at me like I’m a pigeon that strutted in here with a half-eaten street hotdog in my mouth and he’s thinking about stomping on me with his boot.
“I’ve been planning this for a while now,” Simon says, sounding undaunted like this is going totally fine. But his grip on my back is still tight, the only sign that he’s stressed. “I understand you don’t know Emily, but she’s a good match for me. We have an arrangement—”
“An arrangement?” His father’s eyebrows shoot up. “If you wanted an arrangement, there are half a dozen worthy, politically advantageous women you could’ve married, not some random girl you found on the street.”
Simon’s jaw works. “Emily is smart. She’s capable. And best of all, she’s loyal. We have an agreement, and before you say anything else, she is my wife. You’ve been saying that I’m not serious enough to step into a leadership role, but my relationship with Emily is meant to prove how wrong you are.”
There’s a beat, and then his father starts laughing. I cringe back, and it’s obvious by the expression on Simon’s face that this is going very, very badly.
“You think this shows you’re serious?” his father roars, shaking his head. He wipes tears from his eyes. “My god, Simon. If you wanted to be serious, you could have married someone worthwhile, but instead you went ahead and did something silly and childish yet again. I’ve been saying for a long time that you’re too impulsive, but this is too much.”
Simon’s fingers dig into the small of my back and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from yelping in pain. But then he relaxes and steps forward, putting himself slightly in front of me, which is a relief. The way his father keeps looking over makes me want to melt into the floor.
“Your opinion is not the only one that matters,” Simon says, keeping his tone level, but the threat is obvious even to me. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s bad, because his father stops laughing. “The Famiglia needs continuity. That’s what you’ve been saying. Emily will provide that continuity. If you wanted a politically motivated marriage then you could have talked to me about one, but you didn’t. Emily is my choice. She is my decision, and I’m standing by my wife.”
It shouldn’t matter whether Simon stands up for me or not.
Our relationship is fake and he’s doing this for his own personal benefit.
I like the way he says I’m standing by my wife and he doesn’t back down from his father’s condescension. I know this isn’t about me, exactly, but I also feel like Simon could throw me under the bus right here and now and things might go better for him, but he doesn’t.
His father’s eyes roll from Simon over to me. I shrink back, feeling smaller than I’ve ever felt before, and I’m suddenly grateful that Simon picked out my clothes earlier. I would’ve looked like a pathetic street urchin in my normal stuff, and at least right now I blend in with the decor.
“Emily, would you please excuse my son and me? We need to have a conversation.”
I don’t move. Instead, I look at Simon, and he turns back to me. There’s an interesting expression on his face; he seems almost grateful.
Like he’s happy I didn’t immediately do what his father wanted and looked to him for permission.
He leans forward and kisses my cheek. A strange thrill runs down my spine and into my core. This isn’t really the time to be thinking about my husband’s soft lips or what he could do with that mouth, but the image does flit through my stupid, horny brain anyway.
“It’s okay,” he says softly in my ear. “You can go. I’ll handle this.”
I hesitate though. I feel bad—I don’t want to leave him alone. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Go ahead back to the house. I’ll see you soon.”
I touch his cheek. It surprises both of us, but he doesn’t pull back from the gesture. I kiss his lips very gently, lingering a touch longer than I should. I tell myself that it’s a show for his father. Maybe that’s a little bit true.