Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
He doesn’t hit me.
“What will you be when you grow up?”
There were so many things I wanted to be—a doctor, a nurse, a librarian, a mother, a teacher, a writer—so many things.
“Trash.”
Pulling out of the memory, I try to take a deep breath. All day, my father did that. I don’t know why he was so determined to make me say it. I had deducted that he’d been sleeping with one of my teachers and she must have told him that I wanted to be someone when I grew up.
After that day, he had done his job, because whenever someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always responded the same—I wanted to be trash. The first time, I got bullied, then I think the kids at school realized what was happening, and afterward, they never bullied me. They actually cut me some slack. I was nineteen years old.
That son of a bitch was dead and I just humiliated myself and my husband at dinner. My fucking Bratva husband in front of his boss.
“Charlotte,” he said.
“Go and enjoy dinner,” I said.
“Dinner hasn’t come out yet, Ivan told them to wait until you return.”
“I can’t go back out there.”
“Open the door,” he said.
“No.”
I feel his hands on the door, it’s so strange.
“Come on.”
I don’t want him to see me like this.
I swipe at the tears that were so rude not to stay inside my eyes. Spinning around, I open the door. “Please, just … can I go back to your house?” I asked.
“You mean home?”
I nod my head but I never called it home, not out loud. No, it was always silently in my head.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me.”
Pressing my lips together, I clench my hands into fists.
“You’re not going to ask me what happened?” I asked, forcing myself to look up.
“I don’t need to. I put two and two together. Your dad forced you to say it enough to that question that it’s became a natural response to you. You were distracted at the table. When asked, you went back to your default answer.”
I swiped at the tears. “It was so stupid.”
“No, it’s not stupid at all. What is stupid is that he got to die quickly and you didn’t get to see him suffer.” Ive took hold of my hands, locking our fingers together and he pulled me close. “You didn’t get to see him beg and cry and look as ugly as he begged for his life. You deserved to see that.”
“My father wouldn’t beg.”
“You wouldn’t think so, but I know he would.” Ive kissed my lips. “And not a day will go by that I don’t regret you didn’t have that chance. You’re not trash, Charlotte. You never were and you never will be.”
I want to believe him.
“You’re my fucking queen.”
I want to sob.
“What are you?” he asked.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I was nothing but trash. I force myself to look into his eyes, but there’s something in that blue gaze that warns me not to.
“I’m your queen.”
“That’s right, and as my queen, we’re going to go and enjoy dinner. No one will say anything. Do you understand?”
“How can you want me by your side?”
He let go of my hands and wrapped his arms around me. One cupping my face, the other on the curve of my ass. “Tell me, Charlotte, how can I not want you? You are my wife. No one will say anything. Trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
He takes my hand and leads me out of the bathroom. I feel like there’s a lead weight in my stomach, and as I approach the table, I don’t dare look at anyone.
Ive pulled out my seat and I sat down, and he nudged it beneath the table.
Ivan speaks first and alerts the waiter it’s time to bring out food.
Lifting my head, I look at the table, and even though everyone is staring at me, not one appears to be judging me. I don’t know what has been said, but conversation starts again when the waiters bring the food to the table.
Chapter Seventeen
Ive
The honeymoon has come to an end. Last night’s meal was the final evening, and apart from Charlotte’s incident, it went by without a hitch. I left Ivan to talk to everyone at the table while I went to my wife.
She had been so freaking nervous going to dinner. I had to calm her down. I didn’t need her to explain to me what happened. The scars on her back, and the few faux pas she’d had during our honeymoon, told me everything I needed to know.
Her father had caused her pain so that she responded naturally to a simple question. I didn’t like it, but I knew Demon had done a number on Charlotte. She was a woman who had never known true kindness or a loving touch. I’d caught sight of her in some mirrors as she hugged me, how happy that simple action was. A kiss. A touch. She loved it. She craved it more than anything.