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Motherfucker. "Her name isRaven. And don’t be rude. Even silent, she’s livelier than you."
"Fine, Raven, whatever."
"You still haven't told me what the catch is."
He inhales sharply, then looks up at the ceiling as if searching for patience. He does that a lot around me.
It tickles me.
"Only Parker, your parents, my second, and us know this is an arranged marriage. You would need to... seem very in love with me, and I you. So wear a long-sleeved dress because I will have my hand on your hip, and I will be touching you."
That's... considerate but still.
"Mmm..." I take another sip of my coffee as if contemplating it, then brush by him. "Pass."
"Goddammit, Sabrina."
"Trust me, Mr. Giordano, I’m not very good with large crowds, and I believe the last thing you want for anyone to see is your soon-to-beweakwife."
"Fucking hell, Sabrina," he growls, grabbing me by the elbow. My hot coffee sloshes between us, landing on my hand and wrist. I drop the mug, and it shatters on impact.
"Ouch!"
What happens next is so fucking fast I can't help but stare with wide eyes. Parker has him by the collar of his pristine button-up and his gun under Maksim's jaw, but he doesn't even look fazed. His brows are drawn up in concern, but his eyes are on me as I shake off my hand, flexing my fingers. It burns but thankfully there was enough cream in there to have cooled it down. Not enough, but some.
I pretend not to hear when Parker whispers, "See? Not even safe from you."
"Let him go, Savage. I'm fine. Nothing a little cortisol won't fix." I sigh, sad that I can't enjoy my coffee any longer. "I'll think about it, Maksim. This is obviously important to you and what kind of wife would I be if I can't put away my own feelings to make my husband look good? This is one of those events I'll be forced to attend annually, I'm guessing?"
He clears his throat but I'm no longer looking at him, making my way to the kitchen to grab paper towels to clean up the mess. "Yeah."
"I'll need a list of dates for the future. I don't like things to be thrust upon me like this. I need a few days to be able to get into the headspace you'll need me in." I throw away the soaked towels and go back to pick up the broken mug, careful not to cut myself on the smaller shards.
"That... can be organized." I can feel his eyes boring holes into the side of my head, but I ignore him, keeping myself focused on the task at hand. Parker comes to help me, sweeping up the small pieces into a dustpan.I still don't meet Maksim's stare; I simply supervise with a hand on my hip and watch Parker. Watch the way his strong, long, tatted fingers move so gracefully to clean a mess he didn't cause.
That's a mouthful, isn't it?
I hold in my sigh, hold the way my fingers tremble in need of touching him, to thank him, to embrace him. The prickling feeling in my stomach tells me to find a way out of this marriage contract so he and I can be alone forever. Together.
But that's selfish of me, too.
Weak.
He needs and deserves a woman that can more than tolerate a touch to the elbow. He needs a woman that will love him as fiercely and as passionately as he is quiet. And that's not me.
Will never be me.
I'm too damaged. Too broken. Too…much. I'msomuch, I won't be enough for him. I won't be the good things he deserves.
There's a part of me that believes thebeforeme would've made him happy.Beforeme could stand it when hewould tug me off some guy's lap by the middle, reveled in the way his strong, thick forearms were always so warm. And now I swear every time he looks at me there’s a dash of pity in those mix-matched eyes of his.
I finally release that sigh in the direction of the man that deserves my ire, my fiancé, still not daring myself to look at him. How can I? Every time I look at him, I think about that penthouse, cold, devoid of color and feeling. Like the diamond on my ring, it's sleek and pretty, cut to mirror the life we'll share -cold. Devoid of feeling. Just another shiny, pretty thing that hides what really goes on.
I couldn't help the overwhelming sensation of foreboding and doom that filled me when I'd walked through it when I dropped off his cupcakes. It was the same feeling that flooded me the day my father told me about the agreement.
I had to leave. I had to get out. I had to run before the anxiety thwarted outwards and I caused unfettered havoc and broke every expensive brilliant thing in his penthouse. Which wasn't much.
I know what he saw when our gazes clashed as I pressed the button for the elevator to go down.