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Vuk Markovic was Jordan’s old college roommate and best man. I didn’t know him well, but our previous interactions hadn’t been the warmest. In fact, I was pretty sure he despised me.
But the little girl was wrong. They weren’t gross; they were simply a part of him. Some people had freckles and moles; he had scars.
I knew all this already. I’d watched every interview and read every article she’d ever been mentioned in.
Because they were getting married. Because I saw her first. Because she was his when she should be mine.
My pulse fluttered at the words scratched in bold black. I don’t hate you. But I wish I did.
If you were my fiancée, I wouldn’t look at another woman. Entertainment or not.
“Kada te konačno budem poljubio, nećeš više nositi njegov prsten na ruci.”
“Do you taste that, srce moje?” Vuk’s eyes burned into mine. “That’s the taste of your need for me. Not anyone else. Me.” He pushed his fingers deeper. I choked, my eyes welling with tears. “You’re mine, Ayana. I teško onom koji pokuša da mi te uzme
“There’s one thing you should know about me, Ayana,” he said, his breath grazing my ear. “I. Don’t. Share.”
“Nisam sklon kompromisima, srce, ali za tebe bih pristao i na hiljadu njih