Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
We thought we were coming here to work. For a better life. Life in Kukës is hard for some women. We were betrayed—
Maybe that’s what she wants. To go home. And though I dread what her answer might be, I ask her anyway. “Would you like to go back?”
“Back?”
“Home.”
Her eyes widen with fear. “No. I cannot. I cannot.” Her tone is a hushed, rushed whisper, and the fine hairs on my neck stand on end.
“Why?”
She remains mute, but I want to know. I press her. “Is it because you don’t have a passport?”
“No.”
“Then why? Was it that bad?”
She screws her eyes shut and bows her head as if ashamed. “No,” she whispers. “It’s because…it’s because I am betrothed.”
Chapter Eighteen
My chest constricts as if I’ve been kicked in the solar plexus.
Betrothed?
What medieval claptrap is this?
She looks up at me. Her eyes wide, exposing her distress. Adrenaline pumps through my body; I’m ready for a fight. “Betrothed?” I whisper, knowing full well what it means.
She’s fucking promised to another.
She bows her head again. “Yes.” Her voice is barely audible.
I have a rival. Shit.
“And you were going to tell me this…when?”
Her eyes are scrunched shut as if she’s in pain.
“Alessia, look at me.”
She lifts her hand to her mouth—to suppress a sob? I don’t know. She swallows, then raises her eyes to meet mine. Her expression is raw, her despair palpable. My anger dissolves in a second, leaving me in turmoil.
“I am telling you now,” she says.
She’s unavailable.
The pain is instant. Visceral. Shocking. I’m in free fall.
What the hell?
My world has shifted. My ideas. My vague plans. Being with her…marrying her…
I can’t.
“Do you love him?”
She draws back and gapes at me in shock. “No!” It’s a breathless, passionate denial. “I do not want to marry him. That is why I left Albania.”
“To get away from him?”
“Yes. I was to be married in January. After my birthday.”
It was her birthday?
I stare blankly at her. And suddenly the walls are closing in on me. I need space. Like when I first met her. I’m suffocating in a whirlwind of doubt and confusion. I need to think. I stand, and in one deliberate move, raise my hand to sweep my hair aside and gather my thoughts. Alessia recoils beside me. She cowers and clasps her head in her hands as if she’s waiting—
What?
“Fuck. Alessia! Did you think I was going to hit you?” I exclaim, and step back, horrified by her reaction. Another piece of the puzzle that is Alessia Demachi falls into place. No wonder she always stood out of my reach. And I’m ready to kill the motherfucker. “Did he hit you? Did he?”
She looks down at her lap. Ashamed, I think.
Or maybe she has some misplaced loyalty to the fucking arsehole from Buttfuck, Nowhere, who has a spurious claim on my girl.
Fucking hell.
I clench my fists, my rage murderous. She’s so still. Head bowed. Folding in on herself.
Calm down, mate. Calm yourself.
I take a deep cleansing breath, my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry.”
Her head whips up. Her look direct and earnest. “You have done nothing wrong.”
Even now she’s trying to pour oil on my troubled waters.
The few steps between us are too great a distance. She watches me warily as I approach, and cautiously I crouch down beside her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m just shocked that somewhere out there you have a…suitor, and I have a rival for your affections.”
She blinks rapidly, and her face softens as a rosy tinge marks her cheeks.
“You have no rivals,” she whispers.
My breath catches, and warmth spreads in my chest, chasing the last of the adrenaline away. These are the sweetest words that she has said to me.
There’s hope.
“This man, he’s not your choice?”
“No. He is my father’s choice.”
I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, planting one soft kiss on her knuckles.
“I cannot go back,” she whispers. “I have dishonored my father. And if I return, I will be forced into marriage.”
“Your…betrothed. Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t love him?”
“No.” Her vehement, monosyllabic response tells me all I need to know. Perhaps he’s old. Or unattractive. Or both.
Or he hits her.
Fuck.
Standing, I pull her into my arms, and she comes willingly, putting her hands on my chest. I fold her against my body and hold her. And I don’t know if I’m comforting her or myself. The thought of her with someone else, someone who mistreats her, is horrifying. I bury my face in her fragrant hair, grateful that she’s here. With me. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to put up with so much shit,” I murmur.
Looking up at me, she brushes her index finger over my lips. “That is a bad word.”
“It is. It’s a bad word for a bad situation. But you’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Leaning down, I brush my lips against hers and it’s like a spark to dry kindling, my body comes alive. It takes my breath away. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, offering her mouth to me. I cannot resist. In the background, RY X is still singing in his husky, melancholy falsetto about only falling in love. It’s soulful. And rousing. And relevant.