Page 75 of Accidental Groom
“You were fucking desperate enough to beg him to marry you,” he spits, stepping closer. “You couldn’t wait for me to come back. You didn’twantto.”
“You left on ourwedding day,” I snap.
“I was testing you.”
“That’s just a blatant lie?—”
“I wanted to see if you’d chase me. If you’d fight. If you’dwait,” he seethes, taking a step toward me.
“No, you didn’t. You just wanted out. You can’t keep changing your story.”
His gaze hardens. “You were mine first.”
My veins ice over, the world tilting beneath me. “Excuse me?”
“You were promised to me. I was fourteen, you were sixteen. Remember that?” he asks, taking another step. “You were mine before he ever looked twice at you. You were mine before it waslegalfor you to be his.”
“I was never yours,” I hiss. “I was an arrangement. A pawn, a way to funnel wine into your family’s hotels. Andyouthrew me away.”
“Iownedyou.” His hand lashes out before I can react. Fingers wrap around my wrist, hard, the sudden pain jolting me back to my senses. I twist away, but he yanks me closer, grabbing my other arm to pull me in. He’s not steady in the slightest, he reeks of liquor, and hiseyesgive me far too much pause — they’re glassy but focused, locked directly on my face. “I don’t get it. He’sintoyou? After you were promised to me? I’ve seen you in those sundresses, seen your stomach and your thighs. He actuallywantsthat?”
My skin crawls as his eyes dip south, looking at my stomach again, seeing how it’s grown. Protective instincts flood me, and I gently try to pry my wrists free, enough that it hopefully doesn’t set him off. “Let me go, George.”
“I could take you right here,” he rasps, his lips quirking up grotesquely as his fingers tighten. “I could remind you who you were meant to belong?—”
My knee jerks up before he can finish that sentence, aimed for his groin, but he blocks it with a well-timed stumble, pushing me back into the wall behind me. My breath wheezes out. “Stop—Christ, I’m pregnant?—”
“Doesn’t matter.” His answering grin is all teeth.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Treat me with a bit more respect,Mommy.I’m yourhusband’sson.”
“Then act like it!” I shout, shoving him hard.
He doesn’t budge.
I do it again, harder this time, but his hand grabs my face, sloppy and rough with his fingers digging into my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “I could make you forget everything,” he smirks. “The wedding, the chaos,him.”
“I don’twantto forget him, you fucking lunatic,” I spit. “I love him.”
His expression shifts, something unhinged flashing in his eyes. The rage crests suddenly, violently, and he pushes me back against the wall hard enough to knock the wind fully out of my lungs.
I twist a wrist free and swing.
The punch lands solid, knuckles crunching into cartilage. A sharp yelp tears from him as he stumbles back, clutching his face as blood gushes from his nose, splattering down his white shirt.
“Fuckingbitch!”
My hands shake violently as I take a step back, then another, and another, spinning on my heel out of adrenaline and rage and something else I don’t have a name for. My knuckles hurt, my arm is trembling, and I’m not entirely sure where I’m heading, just know I need to getaway?—
Pounding footsteps race in my direction, but not from the kitchen.
Harry barrels around the far end of the hall, eyes scanning the space like a hunting dog, still dressed from his meeting. He sees George slumped against the wall behind me, shirt stained with blood, groaning.
Then he sees me.
His eyes flick to my knuckles, to the blood there, to the hand covering my stomach, to my rapidly rising and falling chest. “Elena?” he asks, looking back and forth between me and his son.
