Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“You tripped and landed on your face.”
“Oh.” I reach up and touch my nose. I wiggle it a little. “Doesn’t hurt.”
“That’s good. Tough little kitten.” He reaches up and brushes a thumb down my scar. My spine tingles, and I stare at him, mouth hanging open. “Pretty thing too.”
“My scar? Pretty?” I’m having trouble making sense of that. It’s mostly covered with foundation right now, but it’s visible up close. Most people pretend like it doesn’t exist. They’ll look at anything but the ugly patch of puckered skin running from my cheekbone to my jaw.
But this guy just touched it like it’s nothing.
“Very pretty. Means you’ve been through something.”
“Hard for me to see it that way.” I adjust myself so I can see him better. I can’t tell if this guy’s full of crap or what. “Are you the person I’m supposed to marry?”
He nods slightly. His eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief for a moment before he quickly composes his face. Hard mask back in place. What’s he hiding from?
“My name’s Tigran.”
“I’m Dasha. Honestly, I never do this.”
“Get married? Me neither.”
“No, I mean faint.”
“I have that effect on women.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking, but that cool expression is difficult to read. Who the heck is this guy? And why do I like being so close to him, even though I haven’t been touched by someone outside of my family in forever?
He’s comforting me. He’s protecting me. And I like that.
It was the way he brushed his thumb down my scar.
Like it was no big deal. Like he really thinks it’s pretty.
That’s not a word I’ve heard someone use to describe my disfigurement before.
There’s just something raw and attractive about him.
My father comes forward. “Dashenka, darling, maybe we should—”
“Give the girl a fucking moment,” Tigran snarls, staring at my father with undisguised loathing. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had prepared her.”
“You don’t understand,” Dad says, looking strangely afraid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him scared before in my life. Who is this man I’m going to marry? My father’s not afraid of anyone. “It had to be this way.”
I open my mouth to defend him. Dad had no other choice. If he’d told me sooner, I would’ve found a way to run. It’s true, I’m crazy. I’m a shut-in, a weirdo, a creep. Didn’t you know that? Everyone else does.
But I say nothing. I know I’m supposed to speak up for my family, but for the first time in a while, I can’t make myself follow the rules.
Not when it feels like my father so thoroughly shattered them already.
Screw my dad. Let him feel bad. He freaking deserves it.
“Tigran, brother, we do need to get moving.” The other man from earlier kneels down and nods at me. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” I shuffle away from Tigran and sit up. “I’m just a little dizzy, that’s all.”
“Arsen, maybe we can postpone.” Tigran’s jaw works. “This wasn’t done well.”
“It’s now or never,” Arsen says, sounding regretful. “Help your new wife to her feet and support her. Let’s get this over with.”
Tigran’s hands are strong and firm as he takes me by the arms. It’s like I’m nothing as he lifts me up and sets me down. I wobble in my ridiculous heels, and he steadies me. The man’s a rock in a churning sea.
Stupid freaking shoes.
I should’ve worn sweats.
There are eyes on me, so many eyes staring. Embarrassment flushes my skin. At least a dozen more people are waiting in the pews. They’re watching, their attention crushing me.
But I keep coming back to him.
My future husband.
He’s got a raw, vicious look to him. Like the suit he’s wearing barely hides the killer underneath. His skin’s covered in dark stubble, and his eyes are a deep, deadly brown. I like his hands most of all: big, gnarled, callused from use. His full lips press into a hard line as he gently helps guide me to the end of the aisle and positions me across from him in front of a bewildered-looking old priest.
My scar tingles where he touched it.
“Let’s get this done,” Tigran says firmly.
The priest sputters awkwardly about love and devotion and begins to read from the Bible while I stare at my future husband. My father stands behind me while Arsen is behind Tigran. The room’s smoky and silent, and there are no smiles in sight. It’s like they’re attending a funeral instead of a wedding.
Which is how it feels for me.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive this. Panic swells up again. My breath starts coming faster, and Tigran’s expression hardens as he stares at me. Oh, god, I’m upsetting him already. I’m going to ruin this marriage before it even begins, and what’ll happen to me then?
I can’t let down Dad, and I definitely can’t fail the pakhan.