Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“It depends.” My eyes rocket back to the doctor. “If you were rough and caused internal vaginal tears, it could alter the result.” She pats my knee before sitting on a chair on wheels and wheeling closer to the examination table. “How about we take a look?”
My thighs shake uncontrollably when she pulls out the stirrups from under the bed and guides my legs onto them. I almost pull my knees together when the coolness of the air brushes over my exposed vagina. One glance at my friendship bracelet stops me.
I need to do this.
“Relax for me.”
I try to follow her instructions, but I can barely breathe, let alone unclench my muscles. Her head is right there, between my legs.
When a solemn tear trickles down my face, I slant my head to the side, praying the white sheet covering the examination table will absorb it before anyone sees it.
I’ve clearly run out of genie wishes. Matteo’s exhale is as rough as his chair slamming into the wall when he pushes up onto his feet and crosses the room in two heart-thrashing seconds.
With his hand curled over mine, he bobs down until we’re face-to-face.
“Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Don’t pay any attention to what she’s doing.”
I inhale a shaky breath before returning his stare.
My eyes dart away when something cool and foreign breaches my vagina. It isn’t the doctor’s gloved hand.
“Keep your eyes on me, micina. She’s not doing anything. She won’t touch you. She’s just looking. Right, Doc?”
She must miss the fury in his tone. “I need to check for internal tearing.”
“There is none,” Matteo’s voice booms. “Look at her fingers; they’re tiny.”
“I can’t report that there is no damage unless I check—”
“Then prepare to report the death of you and everyone in your fucking family,” Matteo barks out. “Because there’s no vaginal tearing, as I’ve told you. More than once.” He stares her down, shifting my shaking legs to her. “Do I need to repeat myself again?”
The doctor’s swallow is as audible as her headshake. “No. You are correct. There is no vaginal damage for me to report.”
When she lowers the sheet covering my wobbly knees and tells me I am free to get dressed, I almost gush about Matteo’s unexpected assistance.
My relief is short-lived.
Assuming Matteo is the man getting the stamp of approval to marry me, the doctor says, “Your husband-to-be is a very lucky man.”
Matteo is already gone before all her sentence leaves her mouth.
Chapter 30
Azra
Iclutch the results of the purity test in my hand. I passed. Mercifully. It should have never been a question, but I didn’t lie when I said my dream felt real. From what I’ve been able to puzzle together over the past hour, when I passed out from sexual exhaustion, that was the end of my exchange with Matteo. He didn’t spoon me, and he most certainly didn’t penetrate me.
Regretfully.
Hating my disobedient inner monologue, I grip the report so firmly that the paper crinkles.
Now is not the time for doubt. I’m sitting in an SUV, alone, staring at the front doors of the Caruso mansion, waiting for Matteo to show up. It’s time to go back to the life I’d give anything to forget exists for another hour, to the ruse I hope will someday let me live as freely as I have in recent days.
I wait for ten minutes.
Then twenty.
Then forty.
By the time an hour passes, the silence becomes unbearable. It presses against my ribs like a weight I can’t lift and upsets my stomach.
He’s not coming.
Of course not. Why would he?
He made his trade. He got what he wanted.
It isn’t me.
Swallowing hard, I tap the driver on the shoulder. “You can go,” I tell him, my voice steadier than I feel.
He locks eyes with me in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure? We can wait a little longer if you need more time to think it over.”
Me? Why would I need more time? Staying isn’t an option. Right?
I shift my eyes back to the mansion before I slowly nod. “I’m sure.”
He’s clearly not coming, so I don’t know why I need to continue torturing myself.
The driver sighs before he pulls the SUV away from the mansion. I look forward, not back, because looking back will hurt too much.
I have suffered enough burns over the past forty-eight hours.
But then a sound rumbles through my chest. A deep, familiar rev, and I twist in my seat so fast that my neck twinges.
Matteo is following the convoy on his motorcycle. He’s tailing the long line of SUVs, following like a shadow that refuses to detach itself.
Confusion crashes over me so hard that before my head can advise my heart against it, I climb into the passenger seat to get a better view of him in the side mirror. Although a full visor hides his face, I can tell he is tense. His posture is rigid, and his grip on the handlebars whitens his knuckles.