Page 40 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
But the truth is that, despite everything Anya has done to me, and whether I want to admit it or not, I never want to hurt her. I never want to do anything to her that would make her hate me.
“Can we get ice cream?” she mumbles, her eyes closed, her lips parted, and her face pressed into the pillow.
“Sure, we can get ice cream,” I whisper back, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “In the morning.”
Her skin is soft and warm against my lips.
Before I walk away, I watch her for a long moment, wondering what life would have been like if it hadn’t gone so wrong.
After setting a glass of water and some headache tablets on her bedside table, I go to my room, leaving her door slightly open so I can hear her if she calls out to me or needs anything in the night.
I climb into bed thinking about her.
When I close my eyes, I picture what I wanted to do to her tonight out on the patio, with her legs spread around me and her perfect nipples shining through her lace bra.
I wonder when she last was with someone. She’s going to die of embarrassment tomorrow if she remembers telling me it’s been a while.
The thought angers me, though.
I don’t want her with anyone. Even if it has been a long time. I don’t want to think of any man touching her.
It’s been five years since you broke up, Emmanuil. She’s probably dated many men since then.
Chapter 12 - Anya
Bright, harsh light stabs into my closed eyelids as my brain slowly wakes up.
The first thing I’m overly aware of is the headache. A pulsing, thick, painful drum beating against the inside of my skull.
I try to open my eyes, but they feel swollen and dry, and burning. Groaning loudly, I roll onto my back and instantly regret moving. The headache triples, and my stomach somersaults with nausea.
“Oh no,” I whimper, clutching my head and my stomach at the same time.
What did I do? What happened? Why the hell did I get so drunk?
I lie in bed, waiting—waiting for the pain to dull or the headache to disappear, but it’s not happening. If anything, it’s getting worse. I need water and painkillers.
Giving in to the inevitability of having to get up to get those things I so desperately need, I open my eyes, squinting against the brightest morning ever.
I sit up slowly, clutching my head as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I have to sit there for a moment to gather myself.
That’s when I see the glass of water and the painkillers waiting for me.
Did Emmanuil put those there?
Oh my gosh. He was there last night. Oh my gosh, I remember coming home with him—I think we were laughing?An image flashes through my head. Me—taking my dress off? That can’t be?
I look down at my body and groan loudly.
All I’m wearing is my underwear.
Okay, let’s just go with what we know. I know I didn’t sleep with him. I definitely would have remembered that. But whatdidI do? Because already I’m dying from embarrassment knowing I said or did something that’s going to make me cringe.
I toss three painkillers into my mouth and gulp down the entire glass of water, ignoring the nausea, knowing that hydration is key to getting rid of this horrible feeling.
Hydration and pretending like I didn’t make a complete fool of myself.
And a shower.
