Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Don’t you want to know what they told me?” he calls after me, his shoes echoing on his shiny marble floors.
“No!”
“They’ve written to you a dozen times.”
“That’s not news,” I retort over my shoulder as I storm into the bedroom. I swing the door closed behind me. I hear it slap against his palm as he catches it, then his footsteps as he follows me in.
There’s something about this exchange that feels familiar. Maybe that’s why my head and my chest hurt. It feels . . . controlling. Am I overreacting? Fin isn’t anything like Adam. Is he?
“They’re considering court action, Mila. Do you know that? Every week you keep the place on is another week’s rent overdue.”
“That’s fine. I can afford to pay it.”
“But why delay? They want their property back.”
“I have it under control!” I stalk to the window and stare down at the Hyde Park treetops below. My blood feels like it’s boiling in my veins. He just doesn’t get that I owe it to Baba to ensure her possessions, her worldly treasures, are treated with the utmost respect. The contents of that flat are our history, and I became her sole purpose within those walls. I can’t let some stranger tear through the place. Yet I can’t seem to say any of that, the meaning behind the words too large to spit out.
Do I even owe him an explanation, the way he’s behaving right now?
“Why won’t you let me help you?”
“But you’re not trying to help. You’re trying to take over. In fact, this feels like you’re trying to control me!”
“Control—” He swipes his hand through his hair, then presses it to his mouth. “That’s not what this is,” he answers. “I’m just trying to help. I’m doing my fucking best to keep you out of the shit!”
“I don’t need your help,” I snipe, hating how it makes me feel to see him like this. This other side of him?
“Well, fuck,” he says, leaning back against the dresser as though I pushed him there. His expression turns so cold, he looks almost unfamiliar. Un-Fin. “Only, that’s not quite the truth, is it, honeybuns? You need me for your business—need my name. Not to mention my notoriety, because that shit’s good for the ladies, right?”
“Your notoriety has nothing to do with me.” My mind instantly fills with the thought of that fucking influencer, or whatever she is, and the things she spouted to the press. I hate the power I’ve given it in my head, and I hate how I feel right now.
“And my cock. You might not need it, but you sure like it being part of the deal.”
“There’s no need to be so crass.” My heart echoes in my chest. Or maybe it’s the truth in those words. His hurt.
“Is it crass when it’s the truth? ‘Help me Fin,’” he says, sweeping his hand through the air, “‘but only in the narrow areas I say. Fuck me,’” he adds, sweeping it back. “‘But don’t care for me. And whatever you do, don’t love me.’”
“That’s not—”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mila. I’m feeling more than a little used.”
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I retort as I begin to tremble. When he puts it that way, it sounds so bad. He doesn’t deserve that.
“No, but you did ask me to keep on fucking you. As long as I don’t fucking fall for you!” This he almost yells, his composure finally breaking.
“Because love means betrayal and lies to you. Why would I put myself up for that?”
“What the fuck?”
“Those are your words,” I spit. “So don’t pin this on me.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” By his sides, his hands tighten into fists.
“Of course I don’t, because I’m that shallow. So shallow, in fact, what I ought to do is take this curvaceous body the press loves to hate and set myself up an OnlyFans account. Cash in and create my own notoriety, because I’ll do anything for money, right?”
“That’s your hang-up, not mine. Money is just a means to an end, not something to set us apart.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I murmur as I stare at my reflection in the darkened glass. Behind me, Fin folds his arms across his chest and tips back his head. I don’t understand how we’ve gone from kisses and sexy suspenders to this—to hurting and throwing insults.
“Not everyone in your life is going to fuck you over,” he says so softly, I wonder if the fight has drained out of him. “You’re just scared. And I get it. I really do.”
I pivot and glare at him. I want to believe he’s nothing like Adam, that he truly thinks he’s helping, not controlling. That his past is just that, and that when he talks about love he’s being serious. Because, God help me, I think I want that. I want him to love me, but not like this. I won’t ever make the mistakes I did before. I won’t ever settle for someone who makes me feel less.