Kane growls, and within seconds, he’s out of the bed and pressed against my back, his hard length prodding the crack of my ass.
“If you even think about opening those pretty legs for anyone but me, just know that you’re signing their death warrant.”
He grinds his hips into my backside, and I stifle a groan.
“You can do it too,” I choke out. “You can fuck whoever you want.”
Kane grips my hips and spins me around, lifting me and setting me on top of the dresser. My legs part, and he steps between them.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” He thumbs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I have no desire to fuck anyone but you. You are my fiancée, and on Valentine’s Day, you’ll become my wife, and you’ll be the only woman I spend the rest of my life fucking. I loved myfather, but I watched what him living two lives did to my parents, and I will never live that type of life.”
“And what if I never have sex with you?” I defiantly jut my chin out of his touch.
“Princess,” he coos, gliding his hand from the curve of my hip to the apex of my legs, “if I slid my hand into your panties, I guarantee I’d find them slick with arousal.”
He quirks a brow, asking permission, and because he’s not wrong, I slam my legs closed on his hand, then shove him back so I can hop down.
“You’d find me dry as a desert,” I lie. “But you won’t find out because you’re never touching me again.”
I really need to stop talking because when I give in—and we both know I will eventually—I’m going to be forced to eat my damn words.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed in peace.” I throw on a shirt and cotton shorts and then climb into bed, facing away from Kane.
And then I remember what he said about getting married …
“And getting married on Valentine’s Day is kind of perfect,” I say, turning around so I can look into his eyes.
They widen in shock and, if I’m not mistaken, a bit of hope, until I speak my next words.
“After all, the legend says that Valentine’s Day derived from Saint Valentine, a Roman priest who went against the emperor’s ban on marriage—which had been done so men were more agreeable to go to war—and he was brutally executed on February 14. Kind of fitting, right?”
Kane’s eyes turn into thin slits, but before he can comment, I flip over so my back is to him.
“Good night, fiancé. Can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together inhell.”
“And this is my Barbie, Matilda.”I grin at my mother. “She’s going to marry Ken.” I grab the boy Barbie and show it to her. “And they’re going to have babies. And Matilda is going to be a teacher.” I beam up at my mother, who smiles softly at me.
“A teacher, huh?” she says.
“Yep. Just like me. When I get older, I’m going to go to college and be a teacher, just like Mrs. Stone. She’s my favorite teacher and?—”
“Enough!” a masculine voice booms, making me jump.
My father stalks in and swipes the Barbies off the table while I shake in fear. He was supposed to be out of town for another day. It’s the only time I’m allowed to play with my Barbies. But he must’ve gotten home early.
“What did I tell you about letting her play with this shit?” my father yells at my mother, yanking on her hair and dragging her off the couch. “I told you she’s not allowed to fill her head with this nonsense!”
“Andrey, please!” my mother cries. “I’m sorry. I?—”
“I warned you,” he says, snatching up my Barbies off the floor.
“Please, Daddy!” I cry as he carries them into the kitchen.
He lifts the lid of the trash, and when he throws my Barbies inside, it feels like he also threw away all of my hopes and dreams.
When I try to reach and grab them, he shoves me so hard that I fly onto the ground and hit my head against the cabinet.
Before I can get up, he lifts me off the floor and gets into my face. “Your only job is to marry Anthony Rothschild. And if I see you playing pretend again, I’ll?—”
