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  Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me watching him, I observe him through stolen glances when I’m confident, he won’t see me looking. When he laughs unashamedly at another one of my brothers’ sexist jokes at the expense of the three women around the table: Mommy, my grandma, and me.

  His eyes are swollen and bruised, their green color seems a little darker now they are overshadowed by puffy eyelids, but still just as cold and callous as ever. To the world at least.

  He doesn’t scare me.

  His nose is swollen too, the bruising spread over his left cheek. It’s probably natural to be drawn toward someone in such a beat-up state. Some girls would think he looks cute, all alpha male and beaten up, in need of some T.L.C. Instead, it only makes me despise him more. Everything he stands for is so far from what I want in a boyfriend, let alone a husband. It’s almost impossible to imagine having to spend the rest of my life with this monster who beats people up for fun, takes pleasure in their pain, and feels zero sense of remorse, no matter how badly he smashes up the people he fought.

  It’s all just a game to Hunter.

  “And what about my Bella?” Dad asks, turning his attention toward me, and I instantly squirm under the spotlight. “You’re almost done with your studies now, aren’t you?”

  “Not really,” I muster, knowing he is fully aware I don’t finish my studies until next Spring. I’m holding onto this last year with everything I have because I know exactly what’s coming next.

  “Are you two finding time to spend together or has she always got her head stuck in a book?” my mom probes.

  I sense the weight of Hunters eyes on me as he hesitates before replying, “Oh, we are spending plenty of time together. Bella even came to the fight last night to support me.”

  I glare across at him, and he meets my warning look only to grin his wicked grin straight at me.

  Is he so mad that he’ll out me to my entire family?

  “Really? I’m so pleased, Bella,” my mom croons. If I told her I'd supported him in armed robbery, I have a feeling she would be just as delighted. This is what she lives for; standing by her man through thick and thin is her greatest achievement in life. The only thing better would be to raise a daughter to follow in her footsteps.

  “Yes, she came with some friends, who was it you were with, Bella? I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself.”

  Screw you, Hunter. Every time I see you, you’re even more of a jerk than the last time.

  Except, I don’t really say that. Instead, I smile sweetly at my parents, ignoring him entirely and lie, “No one important.”

  He arches an eyebrow to make his stupid point, and I pretend not to care. What does it matter if he thinks Addy is no one? Anything that goes on between Addy and I, is our business. Addy with his soft kisses and gentle embrace... I let my mind wander and can’t help comparing the two men. They are chalk and cheese. Where Addy is cocky in a cute, sure of himself way, Hunter is cocky in a savage, I will eat you alive if you fuck with me, way.

  Addy is tall and toned. Hunter is a mountain. Even in the grey sweat suit he’s wearing, you can see his huge shoulders and biceps almost bulging through the soft cotton.

  Addy’s skin is creamy and smooth. Hunter’s skin glows a deep sandstone color from all of the time he spends outdoors, training mostly.

  Stop! What am I doing? Why am I comparing them? There is no comparison; there doesn’t need to be. I fancy Addy. I am marrying Hunter. The differentiation speaks for itself.

  Everyone tucks into their stew; my Mom doesn’t hold back on what’s been playing on her mind. “Now we are all together, I’m thinking we need to set a date for the wedding.”

  Of course, no one argues, including Hunter and his parents, who nod along in agreement.

  Great, why do I always have to be the party pooper?

  “Shouldn’t we wait until I’ve finished my studies? I really need to focus to make sure I pass everything. I don’t want to have to re do my last year because I fail my assignments.”

  “You won’t be doing that anyway,” my dad wades in, looking almost as horrified as my mom at the thought.

  “I guess there’s no harm in setting a date. It gives us all something to work toward,” Hunter suggests.

  Work toward? Like our marriage is some kind of job. Probably good he thinks like that—a simple business transaction. At least, that way he’s accepting there are no feelings between us. Not the kind of feelings two people should have if they are about to be married, anyway.

  His mom squeezes his hand with pride in her son for doing the right thing; mine has her usual look of sheer disappointment and embarrassment at my lack of excitement toward the wedding.

  “When are you due to finish, Bella?” she asks. She knows full well but asks every time we meet anyway, just in case it’s fast forwarded.

  “The end of May.”

  “That’s perfect. A summer wedding will be lovely.” Mom smiles, not at me. At Hunter’s mom, and I can’t tell which one of them is more excited for this.

  I can’t do this.

  Glancing over at Hunter, who digs into his stew without a care in the world, I’m engulfed by a familiar feeling of panic.

  To make matters worse, my grandma adds her two cents, “Your grandad and I married in summer; I’ll never forget it. It was a baking hot day and sweat was dripping off me in my big dress. Your grandad looked like the happiest man in the world. He smiled from ear to ear all day long; he got lucky.”

  Her eyes dance at the memory on her heavily wrinkled face. She is the head of our family, and she’s getting older and frailer by the minute. We had been close growing up, but she lives her life in accordance with the bible, peppered with Roma traditions, and handed down through the generations. She has no idea why I want to go to university or need to learn to read.

  “That settles it then. I’ll look at some dates next August; we want a Saturday, so everyone can make it. I don’t want anyone missing my girl’s big day.”

  I can’t do this.

  “If you let me know when you’re going, I’d love to come dress shopping with you,” Hunter’s mom offers.

  Visualizing myself trying on wedding dresses, both moms fussing over me, then walking down the aisle toward… I take another careful glance at him. He regards me, too. His greens fixed on my dark browns as though trying to figure me out.

  “The sooner the better. I can’t wait until Bella’s mine.” His voice is low, threatening and menacing enough to make me jump up from the table.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Shit. Did that come out as loud as I think it did?

  From the look of shock on everyone’s faces, yes.

  I quickly mumble, “Sorry.” Spinning on my heels, I run from the room and out to the garden; hot tears burn my cheeks as they fall.

  I don’t intend to make my parents miserable, hurt my grandma, and embarrass my family in front of Hunter’s, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.

  Still, I can’t bring myself to go back inside and apologize—pretend this is all some big misunderstanding because it’s not. The more I think about it as I pace up and down the garden, the surer I become.

  I don’t want to marry that man. I’d never belong to him or anyone.

  Tradition or not, I’m just not made that way.

  Chapter Six

  Hunter

  I thought she wanted to play. Is that not the reason she showed up to my fight last night with another guy dripping off her? Now, I’m playing along while she’s having some kind of mini-fucking-breakdown in front of her parents. I want to say ‘fuck it’ and let her get on with it, but the screwed up annoying part of me makes excuses and follows her.

  I fly up the stairs after her, noticing the door is slightly ajar. Hesitating for a moment to listen, I half expect to hear her crying or packing a suitcase like a runaway kid. When I don’t hear either, I burst into her room. She’s not here but I pause to take in her room. Last time I set f
oot in here was three years ago, when I very first kissed her. We had just been promised to each other, and she had run off from the dining table the exact same way she did tonight. I’d followed her and found her sobbing, as if her heart had just been ripped out, and tried to talk some sense into her. I’d tried explaining it wasn’t that bad— that I wasn’t that bad—but the more I’d talked, the more upset she’d become. Her huge eyes flooded with tears which stuck to her long curly lashes, making her look so fucking vulnerable that I swore to myself I’d protect her from anything that ever tried to hurt her.

  That was before she decided I was the person most likely to hurt her. When my words didn’t work, I’d given up and tried to convince her everything would be okay with my lips. It was my first kiss too, and I had no clue what I was doing.

  As usual, I didn’t play it safe and went for it big time, my tongue invading her mouth and loving the way she tasted. I swear to God she kissed me back; I felt her shy tongue exploring my own until she pushed me away and screamed at me to get out.

  That was the first time I was confused by Bella, and it wasn’t the last. Over the years, she’d messed with me, giving me secret looks and signals that she wanted me— wanted us— then shutting me down every time I responded to them.

  Glancing around her room, I notice nothing has really changed in those three years. The place is tidier now, her clothes are all hung neatly on a rail wrapped in fairy lights rather than strung across the floor. Her desk is still piled high with books but they are neatly stacked and organised by the colors of their covers. No Goosebumps, I chuckle to myself.

  Her bed is made with a neatly folded pink striped nightshirt on top of her pillow, and I pick up the flimsy fabric, lifting it to my nose and inhaling her scent: a perfect mix of sea salt, cool breeze, and tropical flowers. She smells like a vacation.

  What the fuck am I doing smelling her clothes like some creeper? Realizing I probably shouldn’t be here, I toss the nightshirt back where it was and am about to smooth it out when my eyes land on a spotty hardback notebook.

  I know it’s a journal because she’s always kept them. I used to tease her by snatching them from her and waving them around, threatening to read it while she jumped up and snatched it back. Of course, I never would because I’m not that guy. Correction, wasn’t that guy before my pretty brunette bookworm fucked around with my feelings like a cat with one of those little jingly balls or a feather.

  Opening the page at random somewhere toward the back, my eyes scan the words.

  My First Kiss.

  He kissed me.

  A thousand feelings awaken.

  One single moment that changed everything.

  The lips of a monster soft against my own.

  Tidal waves coming home to the shore.

  What is wrong with me?

  I hate Hunter Ryan.

  So why am I wanting more? ~B.B

  What. The. Fuck.

  It doesn’t make any sense. I scan the page for dates, doodles, any clue of when she wrote this. If the journal is an old one, why is it hidden under her fresh pajamas? Flipping the pages, my eyes can’t devour the words fast enough. She wanted more? Maybe then, but definitely not now, and why had she been so quick to push me away?

  Untitled.

  Some eyes tell a story

  Of age, life or hurt

  Some are a window

  Displaying a person’s exact mood

  Some eyes never meet others

  Lone wolves always searching for something

  And some are meant for another

  To look at one person and shine

  Come alive, fill with love, dance.

  His eyes?

  They were meant for me. ~B.B

  Meant for me? I mean, she’s right, but if she’s so confident in my feelings for her, then why the hell does she treat me like such a monster?

  Footsteps interrupt my thoughts and I slam the book shut but don’t put it down in enough time. Bella’s eyes land on it sees it in my hands as soon as she enters the room.

  She charges at me like an angry rhino and shoves me with both hands on my chest. Snatching the journal from my hands, she doesn’t say anything at first; she doesn’t have to because it’s written all over her face.

  She’s about to explode.

  I wait for it; I could have filled the gap with an apology, but I’m scared any sudden sound or movement will send her over the edge, so it keep quiet.

  “Get out,” she snarls at me, although I have a feeling if her family weren’t downstairs, she would be roaring at me right now.

  I don’t move, knowing if I leave, then everything written in the journal— all the shit we both need to talk about—will be left unspoken. I don’t say anything either, in case it makes things worse.

  “Get out, get out, get out,” she hisses, yelling in a hushed tone.

  Finally, I find my voice. “I’m sorry,” I start, throwing my hands up in the air in apologetic surrender.

  “Sorry? You sneak into my room, read my journal, and you’re sorry?”

  “I was looking for you,” I try to explain. “I wanted to check that you’re okay, you seemed upset.”

  “Upset? Upset would be putting it nicely. I’m more than upset! I’m so fucking angry at you right now, I can’t even look at you.”

  Does she really mean that? Because she still hasn’t taken her eyes off me.

  “I get it. You’re pissed I read your diary but those poems. I really think we need to talk things through.”

  Here’s the part where you admit your feelings for me, and we can finally call a truce on this whole enemy thing we have going on and have a shot at something real.

  “They were nothing to do with you.”

  “Liar.”

  “You were never supposed to read them.” She fumbles with the collection of words she’s written about me, clutching it to her chest by her heart. Ironic, really, considering all the words she’s poured into it are meant for me.

  Is she trying to protect the words, her heart, or both? She doesn’t need to protect either because we both know I’d never do anything to hurt her, no matter how much I want to. Not really hurt her. Maybe teach her a lesson or two, which would be thoroughly deserved and justified, but hurting Bella would be like sticking pins in my own eyeballs until they bled. Almost impossible and excruciatingly painful.

  “Please. Just go.” Her voice cracks, and she’s on the verge of tears.

  I don’t want to upset her, but at the same time, I finally have her attention. Breaking into her room and reading her journal might not have been the best thing to do, but if it gives me a nanosecond with the real Bella, instead of the prissy bitch I usually get, it is worth it.

  “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll go if that’s what you really want. But, if I do, that’ll be it, Bella. No more games. We break off the wedding. I tell my parents to find me another bride, you tell yours you’re not going through with the marriage, and I walk out of your life… for good.”

  Her eyes widen to two huge pools of dark chocolate, the pupils so dilated they barely leave room for any coloration other than black.

  My mom had once tried to teach me how to read people. It was her thing, always had been. Palms, facial expression, sometimes thoughts. I didn’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo at first, but there had been too many times she’d caught me out on my little white lies. She knew too much.

  When I was hurting, we barely needed a conversation because she already knew what was wrong. She believed she was born with the power, and she has spent years trying to convince me I have it to.

  Which I don’t, for the record but right now; I really wish I did. If what Mom said is true and people’s pupils dilate when seeing something they like—love—then Bella Buckland is not being honest with me, not by a long shot.

  “But you have to kiss me first.”

  “What? I don’t have to do anything! Get out of my room. Out of my life, Hunter! I mean it.”

 
“I’m not sure if you do. Your poems suggest otherwise. If you really want me gone, then when I kiss you, you won’t give me any signs of wanting me. Then we’ll know for sure. I don’t believe your words; you’re too good a liar. I want actions.”

  I step closer to her, and she doesn’t flinch, her eyes locked on mine. Her scowl softens just a fraction. “You want me to let you kiss me?”

  “You think I need permission?” Before she can answer, I close my lips on her hers, sliding my arm around her waist. I wasn’t planning on using tongues, but when her lips part and she accepts me in, it happens naturally… just like our first time.

  She had that same taste of peppermint and bubblegum, a perfect blend of sugar and spice. Her kiss is equally as contrasting, soft yet demanding at the same time.

  In the moment, I forget where I am, who I am, why I’m kissing her, losing myself completely in the pure pleasure of her mouth on mine. My hands span her tiny waist, roaming over her lightly curved hips, and I bite her bottom lip half by mistake, half on purpose.

  She pulls away quickly, slapping me hard on the face. “Get out. I hate you, Hunter Ryan. I hate you; I hate you; I hate you,” she yells at me through gritted teeth, not caring who hears her.

  I take one last look at her beautiful face, twisted in anger, eyes brimming with tears, lips still trembling from our kiss, and run from her room like I’m fleeing a warzone.

  In some ways, it feels like I am.

  Chapter Seven

  Bella

  They say there’s a fine line between love and hate, but I don’t agree. The two are entirely different entities, and one cannot be mixed up with the other. What I felt for Hunter was pure unadulterated hate, which is why I can’t comprehend why I let him kiss me. Worse still, I’d kissed him back, right after he invaded my personal space and thoughts. I’d wanted to storm downstairs and do what I’d been threatening to do for years and call off the wedding, but as always, something stopped me. This time, it wasn’t just the risk of losing my family. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have everything to do with that kiss.