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The vein in his jaw twitches, but he doesn’t say anything in his defense.
“Well, I’ve got news for you: I will not be controlled.”
I was going for a Hollywood-esque dramatic act of defiance, but my acting must need some work, becausethe words sound weak even to my ears.
The truth is, Arsen has been in control every moment since the one we met—and we both know it.
I told him I’d never accept his deal—yet here I am, eight months pregnant with his baby.
I told him I’d never move into his house—and yet my stuff is unpacked in the room next door and my mom is dying downstairs.
I told him that I would never share a bed with him—and yet I woke up with my head on his chest and my hand pressed to his abs. Abs that looked good enough to eat off of in the moment. (And in this moment, too.)
I’m fighting a losing battle.
He sighs and runs fingers through his thick hair. “It’s time to get ready for bed,roza.”
I narrow my eyes. “Oh, I will—the moment I get back to my own room.”
“Here,” he offers, moving closer, “let me help.”
I put one arm out to stop him coming too close. “Stop. Stop, drop, and roll away from me, please and thank you. Just… just back up so I can think.”
“Is it overwhelming when I’m this close to you?” His green eyes are vibrant, almost hypnotic. I swear his pupils swirl, coaxing me in closer even as I try to back away.
Yes,I answer silently.Devastatingly so.
I don’t say it out loud because I don’t have the energy for a lie.
Arsen can tell. He sees everything. “You’re obviously exhausted. If you insist on being stubborn, you’re leaving me no choice.”
“What does that?—?”
He doesn’t give me time to answer before he’s plucking one of his pristine white t-shirts from a nearby shelf with one hand—and plucking me off the ground with the other.
He’s warm and solid, and my body melts against him even as I shriek, “Let me go!”
I struggle pathetically as he rips the zipper of my dress down. I try to kick at him, but I’m too clumsy and slow and, like he said, exhausted. And he’s much too strong. Cold air engulfs my body as my dress shimmies to the floor. Only then does he let me go.
I leap out of reach, shivering in my underwear, and grab the closest pillow I can find to hold up over myself like battle armor. “If my hands weren’t occupied right now, I’d flip you off.”
He thrusts out the t-shirt. “You want to put something on? Here you go.”
“No,” I snarl sarcastically. “I wanna walk around with a pillow in front of my chest for the rest of my life.”
His hand stays extended. “You don’t have to fight everything, Laila. Some things don’t come with strings attached. Most don’t, in fact.”
“What is this?” I demand, not buying his bullshit for a second. “Some weird power move? Is this all a part of some diabolical plan? First, you knock me up. Then, you lure me into your house and coerce me into marriage. And now, you want to dress me in your clothes? Am I, like, a Barbie doll to you?”
He has the audacity to look bored. “Do you want the shirt or not?”
I ignore his question and meet his eyes. “Tell me the truth: did signing on that dotted line mean I sold my soul to the devil?”
Sighing, he drops the shirt on the floor and drifts to the window. I take the opportunity to admire the musculature of his back. He really is a work of art. “I assume I’m the devil in this scenario?”
“I’m willing to bet you’re the devil in most scenarios.”
“Now, you’re just trying to flatter me.”
