Page 68 of Tainted Ties

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The silence was excruciating, and I didn’t know how to start the inevitable conversation.

Roman and I had finished breakfast and now sat in the manor library.

It was beautiful, with large bay windows and bookshelves that adorned each wall with a ladder attached to reach the higher shelves.

I made a mental note to come here more often.

Despite the summer breeze easing through the windows, I was cold to the bone.

I sat facing Roman in a plush leather chair. His legs were sprawled out, his elbow leaning against the armrest with his fist beneath his chin.

“You’re nervous,” he pointed out, eyeing me skeptically.

My palms were clammy, sweat dripping down my back because Iwasnervous.

I jumped into bed with someone whom I wasn’t sure I hated, and I had no idea where we stood from this point on.

Picking off invisible lint from my sweater, I inhaled deeply. “We shouldn’t have done that last night.”

Roman didn’t miss a beat before answering. “Have sex? Isn’t that normal between a married couple?”

My breath hitched at his words, unsure of why he wasn’t the arrogant bastard I’d met months ago.

I glared at him. “I wouldn’t use the word normal to describe whatever this is,” I said, gesturing between us with my hands.

“Fair,” he sighed. “How would you describe this then?” he asked, mimicking my movements.

“Dysfunctional?” I laughed humorlessly. “Don’t play oblivious to our situation. Our families hate each other, and youforcedme to be your wife.”

I was way over my head and if my father knew I had doubts about my goals, he’d have my head.

Roman leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, holding my gaze before speaking. “And you? Do you hate me?”

I pondered on his question, noticing he didn’t deny anything I’d said but also didn’t acknowledge it either.

The answer should’ve been yes, but the word refused to slip from my lips, lodged in my throat.

I didn’t trust myself around him. Not when I couldn’t understand the turmoil going on inside of me. I felt like I was being ripped apart, conflicted.

Somehow, with each conversation, Roman continued to learn more about me—like my fear of blood—and I didn’t like it one bit.

“I hate you for what you did to me.”

“I’m not sorry,” he uttered. “If you’re not satisfied with my answer, then you’re free to leave, Aurora.”

He was bluffing, I knew he was. But his nonchalance angered me.

A growl ripped through my throat as I got on my feet and went toward one of the bay windows, turning my back to him.

I didn’t expect an apology from him, but a little remorse would have been appreciated.

Even so, I couldn’t leave. Whether I wanted to or not, didn’t matter.

I was here because I was stupid enough to make an alliance with my father. If I left empty-handed, I feared the consequences of my actions. Knowing my father, I wouldn’t go unscathed.

Neither would Roman, and that terrified me more than I cared to admit.

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