Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
“Is that what goes through your mind whenever you threaten my life?”
“Yes. Exactly.” His sigh ripples between us. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to say the things I said. When I threatened you. When I bullied you. It was selfish and cruel, and I didn’t mean any of it.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Okay, fine.” He sucks on his teeth. “You’re dangerous, and I wanted you gone. Nowhere near my family. Dead, if necessary. It’s a…protective thing. You understand.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m fucking sorry.”
“Too little, too late.”
A pained expression tightens his handsome features. My heart cracks, and I have to stop myself from reaching for him and blurting comforting words he doesn’t deserve.
The voice in my head tells me not to trust him. With my marriage in the shitter, it’s the perfect opening for him to make his move in some cryptic game without rules or transparency.
His gaze burns the side of my face, but I refuse to acknowledge it with eye contact.
I don’t have the emotional capacity to do this. I can’t think about what will happen in the coming months or how I’ll navigate it without a husband waiting for me or a home to call my own.
What am I fighting for anymore? What do I even want?
From this point forward, nothing will be the same. I don’t know what to do.
There’s nothing I can do.
Long seconds pass before he shifts beside me. At the edge of my vision, I watch him lower his ass to the cold ground and stretch out a denim-clad leg. His other leg remains bent, providing a place to rest his arm. Getting comfortable. Intending to hang out.
My neck tenses, and my brain gears up to pick a fight.
Then I remember I don’t care.
Even if I had the energy, I can’t be mad at him. He didn’t do this. But I can’t soften toward him, either. He has the power to hurt me in ways Monty never would.
I’m still in shock.
How long has Monty been fucking other women? Since we said our vows? Since we met? Was he ever faithful? How did he hide this from me? When did he do it? At work? After work? When he traveled without me?
Why did he do it? I took care of him. Blow jobs every day. Anal every week. Most days, we fucked morning and night. Is he so goddamn insatiable that he has to hit it all day long with as many women as possible?
“I’m no one to him,” I realize out loud.
Contrary to his parting words…
I can’t live without you, Frankie. You’re my soul mate. I love you so much it scares me.
Manipulative, counterfeit words. They hurt like hell. A full-body ache that sucks my soul and leaves permanent damage.
Trusting him was a mistake, but I’ll learn from it. And eventually, I’ll learn to live with the truth.
He didn’t love me.
It should’ve been obvious when he signed the prenuptial agreement.
Hindsight.
One breath in. One breath out.
“I’m not angry,” I say to the cliff. “I haven’t been faithful, either.”
I’ve kissed half the men here, and I would be lying if I said I hated it. What kind of person does that make me?
Weak.
Leo huffs out a breath. “I can’t imagine a more faithful woman.”
“Refusing to fuck my captors doesn’t make me faithful.” I laugh, and I’ve never heard a more scathing, toxic sound.
“Don’t cheapen it.” He grips my jaw and turns my head to imprison my eyes. “There’s something here, something worth…something, and you fucking know it.”
“Something worth something? How poetic.” I pull away. “You don’t give a shit about me.”
“I would never cheat on you.”
“Be still my heart. Such bold words from a man with so many temptations.” I gesture around at his woman-less world.
“Your husband—”
“Monty is a lot of things, but he would never hold me captive.”
“Then he didn’t want you badly enough.” He leans closer, voice tight. “He didn’t hold you hard enough.”
Hot embarrassment inflames my cheeks, and a deep, aching sadness wells up in my eyes. Panicked, I jerk away before he sees.
Fat tears burn down my face, but I don’t make a sound. I just sit there, giving him my back, willing it to pass. Eventually, he’ll walk away in annoyance.
When he doesn’t, I consider taking off, but in the end, I don’t move. Where would I go? I can run and run, but one of them will always follow.
At some point, I will leave. I’ll escape this place and return to Sitka, if only to pack up what’s left of my life.
No doubt Monty already filed for a divorce. Since I can’t respond to a divorce petition, diligent search efforts will be made to find me, but all will be unsuccessful. By spring, a judge will sign a default divorce judgment, and that will be that. Quick and tidy. It’ll be over without any input from me.