Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“No, no, of course not. You’re just an innocent girl, yes? An innocent girl who happens to marry a very powerful, important man. An innocent girl from a nothing fucking family with no good prospects of her own.” He spits the words out but all the while, he keeps on smiling. “Yes, I’m sure you didn’t know.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I told you already, I had no idea Julien was supposed to marry someone else. None of this was my idea. Now, if you’ll excuse me, he’s waiting upstairs.”
Which is a straight-up lie, but I’m starting to feel trapped and I want to get the hell out of here.
Henri doesn’t buy it though. “Do you like being his whore, Irish girl? Do you think you can fuck your way to the top? Suck dick for a little security in life? Don’t give me that look. You wouldn’t be the first woman to do it. Only I warn you now, Pascal is not going to sit idly by while you leech off Julien. Consider this your warning.”
My cheeks turn red with rage. This man doesn’t know me at all. And yet he’s partially right—I did marry Julien to get security. I married him to escape my father and to bring a little respect to my family’s name on the way.
But it was a mutual agreement. I’m not Julien’s whore. Even if we started sleeping together, it wasn’t like that at first. And this pig of a human being thinks he can judge me?
“I’m leaving now,” I tell him, taking a step forward. “And you’re going to let me go.”
“I’m not done speaking with you yet.”
I pick up a frying pan. “Move.”
He laughs and gestures. “What are you going to—”
I throw it at him. No way in hell I can win a fair fight, so I wing it as hard as I can. It spins end over end and narrowly misses.
“Merde! What the fuck—”
I grab another pan and throw. He ducks, cursing the whole time, and while he’s getting himself together, I try to dart past.
“You little fucking bitch,” he snarls and reaches out, snake-fast, grabbing my wrist.
I shout in surprise and pain as he yanks me back toward him. I stumble off-balance, run into a counter, and his grip tightens as he grabs my elbow with his other hand, lips pulled back into a snarl.
“Let me go,” I hiss at him.
“Looks like you’re out of pans, you Irish slut, and now—”
I twist my hips and knee him hard in the crotch.
He gasps and his grip on my arm loosens. I yank myself free, stagger backwards, and barely right myself as he lunges at me with a vicious snarl. I turn and run hard, sprinting from the kitchen. I come around the corner, heart racing wildly—
And pull to a sudden stop.
Julien’s grandfather is standing in the hall. He’s watching me with a cold stare, arms crossed over his barrel chest. Behind me, Henri comes rampaging out of the kitchen, shouting in French, and only comes to a stop when he spots his boss.
“Pascal, this bitch assaulted me,” Henri says, snarling, and adds something in French that I assume isn’t very kind to me.
“That will be enough, Henri. Good evening to you.”
Henri looks stunned. I stand there, caught between the two men, heart racing into my throat. I never should’ve left the room. Now I understand why Julien tried to lock me up.
“She fucking—” Henri starts, but Pascal cuts him off.
“I said, bon nuit, mets ton cul au lit, espèce d'imbécile.”
I’m shaking as Henri turns and storms off, leaving me alone in the dark hall with Pascal. He’s older than Henri, but where the other man was out of shape and heavyset, Pascal seems solid and thick with a slab of muscle. I back away, feeling exposed and afraid, but he doesn’t follow. Only studies me with a curious expression, like he’s not sure what to make of me.
This went pretty bad, all things considered.
I just wanted a freaking glass of wine to help me unwind a little.
Silence drags on for another beat before Pascal gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
“I apologize for Henri. He can sometimes be somewhat… aggressive.” Pascal’s French accent is thicker than Julien’s, but his English is still precise and crisp. “I pray that does not happen again.”
“Okay, thank you.” I inch to the side, hoping I can get away. “I appreciate you intervening.”
“Though I did hear the two of you going at it quite impressively.” His eyebrows raise in amusement. “Were you throwing things at him?”
“Frying pans.”
“Ah, yes, of course. I’m sure Henri didn’t like that.” Pascal clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “He has a long memory, my friend Henri, unfortunately. I suppose he will not forget that. Ah, well, that cannot be helped.”