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)
Enzo pushes it right back, those eyes boring into mine. They’re darker now, irritated.
After my third piece of melon, he shakes his head, flipping over the small notebook in front of me.
“Read that.” He takes his cup in his hands.
Leaning forward slightly, I look at the chicken scratch of handwriting, starting with the top line. I get to the third word when I realize what it is and pause.
Is he for real right now?
Apparently, as he doesn’t bother meeting my gaze and his next demand comes quickly. “Out loud.”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I look to the paper once more. “I take this man to be my husband, promising to honor and obey him until the end of time.” The words are rushed and bland as they leave me, and I shake my head. “What is—”
“I take this woman to be my wife, promising to honor and care for her until the end of time.”
I blink up at him, and it doesn’t escape me how he chooses to leave out the word “obey” in his version, but seriously? He wants to what, practice vows when we haven’t even discussed my breaking the contract or whether or not he plans to go after what my father offered him?
He glances over his shoulder, and I follow his line of sight, settling on the man in all black at the back of the room.
“That do?” he asks him.
“That will do, Mr. Fikile.” The man bows his head, disappearing the same direction the servers did.
Enzo goes back to eating, finishing off every last bite on his plate.
My mouth opens, closes, and opens again, yet still nothing comes out. Not even when he pushes to his feet. I watch silently as he drains what’s left in his mug and wipes his mouth with a cloth, his long fingers now moving across the buttons of his dress shirt.
“That was your declaration of consent, by the way,” he finally offers, his attention on his waist as he tucks his top into his charcoal-colored slacks. “The marriage license you signed before you tried to leave me will be filed by nightfall.” He slides his jacket on as he walks to the door opposite of the one I entered through, pausing with one hand pressed to the heavy wood. His eyes finding mine. “By this time tomorrow, Boston Revenaw will cease to exist.”
Wait.
What?
Chapter
Three
Boston
I’ve been staring at the door Enzo stormed out of for no less than five minutes, trying to work out the weird-ass breakfast we just shared. Despite being contractually engaged months ago, this was officially the longest conversation we’ve ever had, which is so fucking weird in itself.
Declaration of consent?
I’ll cease to exist?
What the hell does that even mean?
Obviously, he’s just trying to rile me up and assert dominance as if I didn’t already know I’m the meat tossed into the lion’s den, but that doesn’t explain why he would overlook my leaving him at the altar, so to speak.
Is it some sort of pride thing, he agreed so he’ll keep his word regardless? I agreed so he’ll force me to keep mine on principle? Is he on the brink of a turf war and in need of what my father can offer? Did he finally realize my sister was spoken for and the trade-up wasn’t a possibility?
Fuck, I need to find a way to call her, see what hell was unleashed after I ran, and how I ended up right back in this giant, desolate mansion.
At the thought of speaking to Rocklin, an excited energy rolls through me, but I don’t show it as I follow an elderly man in a light gray uniform toward the foyer. It’s pathetic, really, but also not. This will be my first time out of the house in a week, and even though I don’t know where this driver is taking me, my chances of being able to speak to my sister are at least higher than they are while locked in this fortress.
Plus, I’m bored and I can’t possibly dance any more than I already have without causing a major issue for my back, so yeah, I’m thrilled to see the sun today.
I used to spend my free time rehearsing or composing, outside of my mandated training sessions on Greyson grounds. Only when my body was spent with exhaustion and my back completely at odds with me did I stop, soaking in the luxury of lavender and chamomile with a book and a glass of wine.
My sister used to tease me, saying I was two people in one, a princess with an old soul, but she was wrong. I don’t live multiple personas, picking and choosing between the two. I’m simply multi-faceted, and in our world, that’s not exactly a good thing.
As the daughters of the Don, the leader of the criminal underground district of the north we were born into, we were expected to be many things, but it all led to the same thing: perfection.