Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
The dining room is its own entity, with more dark colors, two huge chandeliers that are blindingly bright for my poor head, which still hasn’t quite fully recovered, and a table that is hewn from approximately sixty-eight trees, with at least as many chairs around it. At the head of it all, there are two places set, with one dark-haired gorgeous mystery of a devil sitting like a regal king, straight-backed and dressed entirely in black, and one hulking brute positioning himself next to him.
The place beside Darius is obviously mine. It’s the one thing in this place that might actually belong to me. He owns everything else. Everything that I see and touch. And now, by marriage and by merits of the money already in my bank account, he owns part of me.
If I were a child, I would take the place setting, move it down a good ten chairs, stick my tongue out, and pretend I couldn’t hear a thing that was being said. But I’m not a child, and I need to bargain. It’s up to me to save my family since I’m already screwed. The time for doubts and regrets is over, and I have to make my case.
I sit down on the chair the brute pulls out—at least he has nice manners. There are two covered domed trays on the table. Yes, for real. The wine is already poured—a dark red one—so I’m not surprised when I lift the cover to find a steak that takes up most of the plate and is thicker than my foot. The rest of the plate is heaped with long spears of asparagus and baby potatoes roasted in some kind of delicious-smelling herbs. My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble loudly, betraying the fact that I have been too much of a wreck to eat anything all day.
“So…” I pick up the steak knife and the ridiculously heavy and likely very expensive fork and start sawing away at the steak. I’m one of those people who needs to cut the whole thing up before I eat even a single bite. I concentrate on that task so I don’t have to look up at the dark stranger who is my husband. But, after a long pause, I break and sneak a glance. “About that million dollar…”
A blink. There’s no smile of amusement, but there is laughter in his tone. Not mocking me. “Two million. You’re set on that, then?” He sounds like he really wants to know.
I grasp my fork tight, and the handle of the knife bites into my opposite palm. I’m holding it too tight, holding on for dear life. “Absolutely. I think I’m worth it. Judging from this place, the fact that you have a private jet, and the damage I could do to your family’s reputation if I don’t keep my mouth shut about what your brother did and how you drugged me and brought me here, I’d say the number is quite reasonable.” I can’t ask for more now. I just can’t. Two million dollars. That figure already makes my head swim. It’s the kind of money that makes it so a person has to worry about very little in life.
I inhale deeply, more for courage than to relieve my lungs, but I don’t smell the steak, wine, or dinner. I smell him. Clean, fresh, and manly. He doesn’t smell like a rich person. Not like Bradford did. My heart pulses so fast that it hurts. I don’t want to think about Bradford. Gross. I can’t believe I ever had a crush on him. That I ever thought he was a white freaking knight. He’s more like a turd on a stead. I focus on Darius instead. I have to admit, he’s much more captivating.
Get a grip and cut your steak. Steak is good, while Darius Anderson is bad news. He kidnapped you, and his brother tricked you. Don’t forget that. Don’t feel sorry for him. Don’t feel anything.
I work at the meat, sawing, sawing, sawing, all while I get tingles in my posterior because, of course, I’m nervous. I note that under this lighting, which happens to be a series of huge, ornate old fixtures, my assumptions about Darius’ eyes in the church were correct. They’re just a very dark brown, and they even have a few specks of gold.
My mind gets away from me a little. I always kind of wondered what Bradford would look like without a shirt on, and that one gets chalked up and written into the books of everlasting shame, but I know what Darius looks like. I know what that admission cost him, yet he still showed me. He’s tall and muscled, his body carved in the gym for entirely different reasons than most people. There are two sides to him, one perfect and the other flawed, but both chiseled.