Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I go stiff. The world slows and stops. He’s looking at me with that maddening smile like he knows what he’s saying is obscene and stupid, and there’s a voice gibbering at me in the back of my head, telling me to turn and run away. Except there’s another voice telling me to spread my legs and let him fuck me into heaven.
“You want to get me pregnant?” I blurt out, not really believing it. My cheeks burn crimson, and the fact that I’m letting him get to me only makes my embarrassment that much worse.
“I want a child, and since you’re my wife, I think you’re the perfect candidate. You’re a good Italian girl from a respectable family. You’re smart and attractive. Our children would be strong and intelligent. Why wouldn’t I want to reproduce with you?”
“That’s the most batshit insane thing I’ve ever heard.” I brush past him, unable to take this anymore. I storm to the hallway and he doesn’t stop me, but I pause and whirl back around to face him again. “What is wrong with you, Gian? Seriously? You want me to believe that you want to get me pregnant because you somehow caught baby fever or something?”
He shrugs and studies his nails. “That’s what I said.”
“I am not your freaking sperm bank and I have absolutely no desire to mix my genes with yours. So get that straight through your head.”
“I have a year to change your mind.” He looks up at me, his smile slipping. “Imagine how much fun we’d have.”
“No,” I say, jabbing a finger at him. “Absolutely not. Don’t you dare start talking about having sex. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I don’t know if you realize, but that’s how we’d make the baby.”
“Thanks, dickbrain, I’m aware.” I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand. “You know what? There’s no way I’m sleeping with you tonight.”
“I thought you might say that, which is why I have to break the bad news.”
“I didn’t realize this nightmare could get worse.”
“Baby, there’s only one bed, and not a single couch in the whole place. I neglected the furniture aspect of our life together, unfortunately.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“On the hardwood? Feel free.”
“I’d rather have a bad back than whatever I’d get from sharing a bed with you.”
He laughs and shrugs. “Your call.”
“God, you’re such a prick. You could just be honest for once in your life and tell me what the hell you want from me. You do sort of owe me that much at least.”
“I’ve been completely honest with you from the start.”
“No, you’ve been teasing me and acting like a prick, but whatever. I’m going upstairs to take a shower, and then I’m ordering a guest bed.”
“I’ll make sure your things are sent over,” he calls as I walk away. “Let me know if you’d like some company.”
I flip him off over my shoulder.
Chapter 19
Allegra
It’s dark. The house is cold. Gian didn’t mention that this old building isn’t exactly well-insulated. I have a thin pillow and a pathetic little blanket which isn’t doing all that much at the moment. I stare at the ceiling. My back hurts. My neck aches. I hate it here.
Meanwhile, there’s a huge, stupidly comfortable bed right next door, waiting for me.
All I have to do is swallow my pride.
“Stupid prick,” I mutter and squeeze my eyes shut. If I can get to sleep and survive the night, I’ll be able to get a bed tomorrow and this won’t be so bad.
Except the pipes creak. The floors and the ceiling crack. Wood expanding and contracting, that’s all.
Definitely not a murderer. Definitely not a ghost.
There’s a creak outside my room and I sit up like a bolt. “Murder ghost,” I whisper, but nothing comes rushing through the door, and I slowly lower myself back down with an uncomfortable groan.
This sucks. This is beyond sucky—it’s stupid and hurts. All I wanted from Gian was a little honesty. If I could at least understand why he’s going to such great lengths to make me his very-temporary wife, then maybe I could swallow my pride and get under the covers.
At least then I’d know what he wants from me.
Instead, he keeps saying things like he wants me as his wife, and he wants to get me pregnant, and none of that is helpful.
Because it makes me feel things, and I don’t want to feel things.
“Old black water, keep on rollin’,” I sing to myself quietly. “Mississippi moon, won’t you keep on shinin’ on me.” It’s a song I used to love when I was little, and when I couldn’t sleep I’d put the CD on my vintage Walkman and listen through headphones until I passed out. “And I ain’t got no worries, cause I ain’t in no hurry at all.” I make it through the song once or twice, the instruments playing in my head the whole time, and for a second, I’m that little girl again trying to hide from the nightmares under the covers.