If my mom hadn’t passed away… maybe they would have had more children. Maybe Dad wouldn’t have started gambling. Maybe…
Too many maybes. You can’t question the past like that. It gets you nowhere.
Adrian laughs, low and deep, and I feel it vibrating through me.
His laughter brings me the most warmth. A smile immediately spreads over my face at the sound of it, and I turn to glance at him. He glances at me at the same time, and his smile widens. His eyes lock with mine, and my heart trips over itself.
He winks at me.
One simple gesture.
One, small, tiny little gesture….
And heat spills between my legs.
I bite down hard on my lip, relieved when he looks away as someone speaks to him.
What in the world is wrong with me! I can’t be that easily turned on by this guy! I don’t even know him. And I’m still mad at him for forcing me to marry him. Sure, my father was messing around and doing things he shouldn’t have been, but I didn’t have to get dragged so deeply into it.
Ugh.
Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous!?
I sit quietly, mulling over my thoughts and listening to them all talking.
It’s strange that I can sit in this room full of people and suddenly feel so alone.
Will I ever belong to a big family like this? Will I have my own kids, and will I fall in love?
What is going to happen to me?
Where is this all leading?
Chapter 11 - Adrian
Ever since our unplanned family dinner, Athena has been lost in thought. She seems distant. It’s strange, but I think she is feeling lost and lonely. Maybe missing home or her old routine.
I don’t even know if she had many friends before I took her. I don’t know much about her life before I forced my way into it.
Deciding to try and make her feel better, I make my way upstairs to look for her.
Athena is in the library, reading one of my favorite books.
“The Time Machine?” I say with surprise in my voice.
“Well, um, yes, you said he was a good writer,” she says, her cheeks blushing pink.
“He’s one of the best. But I didn’t think you’d be into Sci-Fi. Maybe romance?” I tease.
She narrows her eyes. “Romance? Isn’t that a bit cliché? I don’t think you’re allowed to make generic assumptions about people like that,” she challenges me.
“Ok. Fair enough. What type of books do you usually read?” I ask.
She looks down at HG Wells’ story, The Time Machine. Slowly, she turns a page, and a slight smile touches her lips. “Romance books.”
She answers so curtly that it makes me explode with a loud laugh.
She’s giggling now, too, biting her lower lip and looking proud of herself.
