Thinking back to the deal Samuele made with my father has served a very good purpose, though. It makes me feel a little less horrible for telling Christian to kill him. It's what he deserves. He's had it coming for a long time.

And wouldn't it be ironic for his death to come at the hands of his son? Ordered by the girl who was never supposed to survive the hit he ordered? I'm sure if given a moment to think it over, he might see the dark, twisted humor in the situation.

But I've seen how Christian operates. I doubt he'll give the man a moment to think anything over.

Dear God, what am I thinking? Who have I become?

This time, when my throat tightens, and a familiar stinging sensation rises behind my eyes, I can't fight what's coming. I can only be so strong. It isn't long before a tear drips from my eyes, then another. I use a tissue to blot it as gently as I can, keenly aware of the effect on the makeup I tried so hard to get right.

I don't want to lose myself. How am I supposed to exist in this ugly world without erasing who I am?

It's no use trying to hold back the tears. Maybe this is what I need. I need to cry and let it out. After a few minutes, a glance in the mirror reveals a blotchy, swollen, tear-stained mess. So much for the beautiful bride. Nothing about this day has been the way it's supposed to be, though, so I shouldn't expect anything else.

A sudden knock on the door startles me. My heart jumps, and I drop the tissue I was using. “Give me a minute,” I call out.

I stand, leaning over the sink, forcing myself to take deep breaths. I can't stay in here forever. Somebody was bound to find me. Get it together. Don't show them what you're feeling.

Another knock sounds, more insistent this time. Are there any other bathrooms in this place? There has to be. “Please, give me a minute.” They try the doorknob, and I realize the instant it begins to turn that I forgot to lock the door when I came in. I reach for it, but it's too late. It's already swinging open.

It's only Christian.

In the grand scheme of things, it could be worse.

“Please, can I at least have a minute to myself? Is that too much to ask?” I bend back over the sink, dipping my fingers under cold water and patting my cheeks.

He doesn't say a word. He only stands behind me, his back to the wall, arms folded. I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “The silent treatment?” I ask with a sigh. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but between the two of us, I feel like I'm the one who has more of a reason to be upset right now.”

He's still silent. Funny how that used to scare me. I would go through all sorts of ugly scenarios in my head, trying to explain to myself why he was acting that way. What it meant for me. Now, though, instead of inspiring fear, all I feel is disgust.

“You know, now isn't the time to try to intimidate me,” I warn. “I'm not in the mood to be who you need me to be. So if you're waiting for me to tremble and beg, you're going to be disappointed. Maybe it would be better to go back out to the guests. I'll be out there in a minute or two.”

He still won't respond.

I grip the edge of the sink with both hands and look up at him in the mirror. “When did you change your clothes?” I ask.

He's dressed in a pair of black slacks and a dark-gray T-shirt. It's a little informal for a wedding reception. “You know, if we're going to be married, you need to learn how to communicate a little better. I can't spend the rest of my life asking questions and never getting answers.”

The hair on the back of my neck starts to rise when our eyes meet again. It's the way he's looking at me, staring coldly. Like we're strangers. I've seen him wearing that expression before. Like with the doctor, the way he glared at her. Like she was nothing, nobody, lower than dirt.

“What did I do this time?” I whisper. A lot of the fight has left my voice, but I don't care. This isn't the time to pretend to be stronger than I feel. “Would you at least tell me? Otherwise, we need to get back out there.”

Stony, impenetrable silence. There's not so much as a twitch in his muscles to give away the fact that he's more than a statue. All of a sudden, getting out of here seems like a very good idea.

Tags: J.L. Beck Dark Lies Duet Dark
Source: readsnovelonline.net