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I wish I had a harder heart like them.
When you’re wounded, you retreat. And that’s exactly what I did for far too long. So long, I got comfortable. Too comfortable.
I came home and swore I’d be stronger. I had new rules to follow. Never trust anyone. Don’t give away your heart. Men suck—avoid them at all costs. I’ve lived by those self-made rules ever since.
“Nothing in life is guaranteed. We constantly have to fight for what’s ours.” She hesitates for only a moment. “Never forget that.”
I acted like there wasn’t enough room for me beneath the table earlier, but that was a lie. I was bumping into her on purpose so I could try and cop a feel of her bare knee or some shit. Like I’m a middle schooler trying to grope the hottest girl in class.
Just the idea of cheating on this beautiful woman fills me with disgust.
Books don’t let you down—especially romances. You get that ending you want, even if it’s hard won.
They all lie. Men. To cover their tracks, to gain something they want. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing, as long as their lips are moving, they’re lying.
“Charlotte.” His voice is extra deep. “Those bruises are fingerprints.” I say nothing. Can only stare at him, my entire being trembling. “Who did this to you?” A shuddery breath leaves me. “I can’t tell you.” “Why the fuck not?” I swallow hard. “It’s none of your business.”
Hell no. Some prick put his hands on her and fucking hurt her.
I may not be thrilled to go through a fake wedding with this woman, but damned if I’m going to let someone abuse my fiancée. She may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s my pain in the ass. And no one can touch her. Not a single soul.
The man can kiss. And he has a way of looking at me, talking to me, as if no one matters. His attention is always one hundred percent for me. And no one else.
“All that talk of sin doesn’t mean shit, since you won’t let me touch you.”
I’m going to break through Charlotte’s walls. Even if it fucking kills me.
Fuck, this girl. She’s growing on me. No. It’s more than that. She’s already grown on me. I want to protect her from her shit family. I want to stand by her and give her the strength I know she needs. I enjoy arguing with her. Causing that fire to flash in her eyes when we banter. I like how I feel when I’m with her, as if I have purpose.
Despite how our situation started out, I want to be there for her. Protect her. Take care of her. Make jokes when she’s sad so I can put a smile on her face, knowing I’m the one responsible for that. The one responsible for Charlotte’s happiness. Yeah. I want that.
“He will never speak to you like that again once you become my wife,” I say, my voice firm. She stares at me, her lips parted. “What? I won’t let him, Charlotte. If he so much as lays one finger on you, I’ll break it. I’ll break all of them if I have to.” “But I’m his daughter,” she reminds me. “And you’ll be my wife. You’ll belong to me.” I pull her to me, slipping my other arm around her waist, my mouth at her temple as I whisper, “I don’t care if he’s your father. No one hurts what’s mine. Do you understand?”
I could fall in love with this man. And that’s the last thing I should do.
I’m experiencing this weird combination of exhausted and exhilarated that I know only coffee can fix.
