Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I was—no, I am someone’s wife.
Not just any someone, but Enzo Fikile, billionaire and Fikile Elite Security’s CEO. King of his very own empire.
Little did I know, I’ll never be his queen.
What was it he had said? He needs a wife who doesn’t sit back like a voiceless doll?
“Fine,” I mutter, falling back on the soft cushions beneath me to stare up at the dark sky—another day wasted away in my room.
Pulling a few short hits into my lungs, I release them into the air above, watching as the smoke disappears as if it was never there in the first place, like a bad omen.
“You want a vocal wife? That’s what you’ll get.”
Maybe he’ll let me go faster this way before I do something really fucking stupid.
Like fall in love.
Another laugh leaves me and for the first time in a long time, a real smile curves my lips.
Yeah, fucking right.
The next morning, my ass no sooner drops into the seat beside his at the head of the table when my mouth opens. “I want a phone, and I want it today.”
Enzo’s hand freezes, tapping several extra h’s to whatever word he was trying to spell on his tablet. Slowly, he sets it down, blacking out the screen as he faces me.
“Don’t say excuse me or come again or ask me to repeat myself when you heard me loud and clear.” I take the whipped cream dispenser and squirt a hefty amount, followed by my beloved caramel. “My dad is alive, says you. My sister is where she belongs, according to you.”
Rather than speak, Enzo reaches beside him, coming back with a small white gift bag he sets on the tabletop. On the opposite side of which I’m sitting.
The giant apple with a small bite out of it in the center of the gift bag leaves no room for speculation of what’s inside.
My eyes dart to his, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s lifting a perfectly square waffle from the giant stack before us, setting it in the center of my plate. Next, he takes two stemless strawberries from the fruit bowl, slicing them longways on his own plate, and scrapes them on top of the giant carb. He doesn’t stop there, snagging the whipped cream from me and adding a heavy dollop in the center.
He fills his plate—sausage and eggs again, surprise, surprise. Only once he’s satisfied with the food before him, does he pin those eyes on me.
Realization dawns and I gape at him. “Are you serious?”
“Do you know me as a man who jokes?”
“I know you even less than I assumed I did.”
At that, a heavy scowl falls over him. “What does that mean?”
“It means you are a man of many secrets, Enzo Fikile.”
His eyes narrow suspiciously. “And you are my wife, which means you are now privy to all of them.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Because if I asked him about Katana he would answer honestly.
He lifts a sharp brow. “You doubt me?”
“I would have to trust you to doubt you, which I do not.”
“You trusted me enough to trap yourself on an island in the middle of the Pacific with me.”
“That wasn’t trust. That was a pitiful attempt of self-salvation.”
“You trusted me enough to move into my home without your security detail.”
“A hazard of my last point.”
“I’m not sure you made one.”
“Well then, let me make one now.” I slap my hands on the edge of the table, rising but keeping my face in his. “You were right, I’m not a doll, which means my owner doesn’t get to decide what I eat. I am not a dog, so I don’t do tricks for treats. And I am not your prisoner, so I will not stay locked up in this fucking house while you are off playing bodyguard. I might not have much of one, but if you think you are going to control every aspect of my life, you’re wrong.”
Enzo shoots to his feet, his chair toppling over behind him as he too gets in my face, but I don’t back down.
“I want to talk to my sister.”
“Try again.”
“You can’t keep me—”
“I said,” he shouts, cutting me off, his voice lower when he continues. “Try. Again.”
My eyes narrow and he levels me with a hard look, one that confuses me. It’s sharp and angry, but behind the harsh lines and clenched jaw is a glint of something else. A challenge.
Unsure, yet somehow completely certain, I do as he demanded. I try again.
“I am going to talk to my sister.”
I wait for him to argue, to make a move that leaves me feeling foolish for assuming I could speak Enzo and read this right, but I don’t get that. Instead, he reaches across the small space separating us, pulling my hair from where it lays against my back so it’s falling over my shoulders between us. He runs his fingers through the length, styled in loose barrel waves today with the top half pulled back in a rubber band, and two long strips hanging loose in the front like long bangs.