Bookish Princess Page 6

  Studying her exquisite face, full lips slightly parted, eyelashes long and thick, I realize I can never be her prince.

  Her equal.

  For the first time, I doubt whether I can be her husband.

  She is so gentle natured, and despite this new-found confidence, I know underneath, she’s still that shy, quiet girl she always was. The girl who loved books more than people— fiction over reality, and the woman who stole my heart.

  Slipping off her shoes and placing them quietly on the floor next to my bed, I pull the duvet up over her, covering her beautiful golden skin and realizing this little bundle of perfection has me by the balls.

  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Even if it means letting her go.

  Unless there is another way to make her see fighting is just one part of me.

  Granted, a big part of me, but I’m more than just a pair of boxing gloves, and I don’t fight just to inflict pain, like she thinks I do. Not unless your name is Theo Milarani anyway. She has her passions, her writing and handbags, why is it so difficult to get over mine?

  Settling into the armchair in the corner of my room, I watch her sleeping and fight the urge to climb into bed beside her. Rage builds inside me because we both know I’m the last person on earth she’d call for help, so whatever happened tonight must have been serious shit.

  Although I never fight outside of the ring, I never said I wouldn’t kill outside of it.

  Whoever and whatever had fucked with my girl is going to pay in blood because no one fucks with the Roma King or Bella.

  Chapter Nine

  Bella

  Pulling the duvet up over my head to try and stop the ringing in my ears, I wake up feeling like absolute shit.

  “Addy?” I murmur, jumping up as I begin to piece the night together. That kiss, the double bed… his hands on me. My dizziness strikes again as I sit up too quickly.

  “Guess again,” Hunter says in a tone so clipped and sharp it slices through the air like a knife through hot butter. As my eyes come into focus, I see his face is pure thunder, his arms folded flat against his chest with his huge biceps bulging.

  “Hunter? What did I…?”

  “What do you think?” he snaps back at me. “You called me, Princess.” He spits the word out with his usual venom, but I don’t care, as long as he fills in the blanks for me because I have barely any recollection of how I wound up here.

  Watching his eyes dart to my chest, I frantically grab the duvet and pull it up to my chin, realizing my black and pink lace plunge bra and embarrassingly small boobs had just been on full display.

  “And you came to pick me up? When? At what time?”

  “Four-fifteen.”

  “I’m sorry, Hunter. What happened? I can’t remember anything. Oh shit, did we…?”

  “Do yourself a favor, I don’t fuck corpses.” He looks seriously offended by my suggestion.

  “Sorry,” I mumble again feebly, feeling fragile and in desperate need of a drink.

  “Did you sleep with him, Bella? Is that why you called because you’d gone too far and given him your V-card?”

  “No… I don’t think so. I don’t know,” I admit, my eyes full of tears.

  “I’ll kill him, Bella, you know I fucking will. You shouldn’t have dragged me into this.” Despite being obviously mad at me, he pours me a glass of water, and I take a sip. Flashes of last night begin to find their way back to me.

  Cocktails… kissing… Addy had been so gentle with me, his kisses so tender and he’d taken me inside when I’d started feeling weird. I recall a bedroom I’d woken up in, and Addy was sleeping next to me. Naked.

  Oh, crap! I’d been naked.

  Hunter was right. I’d panicked and tried to call Harlow. After wiggling back into my dress and tiptoeing out of the room where Addy lay sleeping, I’d crept downstairs and looked for her, but she was nowhere to be found in the sea of paralytic bodies all passed out from alcohol and who knows what else. Her phone was off, so I’d scrolled my contact list for anyone else I could call.

  Outside of my community, there was no one. My brothers would completely freak out if they found out I was drunk at a party, especially Addy’s party, as I am promised to Hunter and everyone knows it. I don’t have the numbers of any of my other classmates. Travellers don’t mix well with non-travellers, and I’m not exactly a people person, so Harlow had been my only option.

  Unless Hunter.

  He was there in the ‘H’s’ section of my contacts. I didn’t know if he’d be awake so late, but I knew it was worth a chance. Whatever happened between us, he never hesitated when it came to fulfilling his duty as my fiancé.

  I shouldn’t take advantage; this could totally screw around with his feelings.

  Give the wrong impression.

  Lead him on.

  But this was Hunter. The Roma King, as they called him, didn’t have feelings; he had fists.

  At least that’s what I thought until I saw the anger in his eyes when I’d said Addy’s name a few minutes ago. Was he desperate for me to say his?

  “I didn’t mean to,” I admit. “I didn’t know who else to call. I don’t remember getting in the car.”

  “Makes sense. You were practically unconscious when I got to you.”

  “It’s so weird. I had one cocktail and felt fine until I went outside and the fresh air hit me. I think someone might have put something in my drink.”

  “If he touched you, Bella, I swear to fucking—”

  “I know,” I cut him off. “I don’t think he did. I don’t feel like I did anything like… “

  “I can’t fucking listen to this.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop saying sorry and sort your fucking life out. When are you going to realize this is happening? Like it or not, we are getting married, and I’ll tell you straight, I won’t stand for any of this bullshit when you belong to me.”

  “I need to go.” My head is still reeling and a fresh onset of nausea threatens to make me throw up.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugs.

  “You know for someone who doesn’t care, you do a good impression of pretending to. You didn’t have to come and pick me up, or bring me here, or let me sleep in your bed. I question him with my eyes, studying his and searching for answers.

  “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  His green eyes burn into my browns, and I try my best to figure him out.

  He doesn’t move, but his nostrils flare and his pupils glow a deeper shade of green.

  “You’re mine, Bella.”

  I don’t argue with him; I don’t have the energy or brain power. My brain is still fuzzy and working overtime to try and decipher what happened last night.

  “Then why are you always so mean to me?”

  “Mean to you?” He arches an eyebrow and moves toward me. I probably look like a deer in headlights, but I can’t help it. Everything about Hunter intimidates me. He always had.

  Slowly, he reached out and stroked the back of his hand along my cheek. His skin feels warm and rough, not soft and silky like Addy’s.

  “We both know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  “Why? Because you wouldn’t want to maim your trophy wife?” It’s a low blow, and I’m not completely sure it is deserved, but fighting with him is second nature. It’s what we do. What we’ve always done.

  I was fifteen years old when I wrote my first poem to Hunter, right after

  being promised to him. It was the first of many words I wrote that were related to him, directly or otherwise. I replay the words in my head, trying to avoid eye contact.

  The day I love you will be never

  Our hearts will never be together

  Everything you stand for makes me blue

  If you were the last boy on earth

  I wouldn’t marry you.

  “Why do you think so very little me? You know what, Bella? I’m tired of all these games between us. If your goal is to make th
is is difficult as possible, then you succeeded. I’ve bent over backwards to make this work, but you’re so set against it, you’ve never even given us a chance.”

  Was he for real? What did he think was going to happen here? That I was going to suddenly forget my brother was in a wheelchair because of his beloved hobby? The best part of his life is the worst part of mine.

  “I can’t do this right now, Hunter.”

  “Whatever. I’m so done with this shit. Put these on, and I’ll drop you back on campus.”

  “Are you sure? I can get a cab?”

  He doesn’t even credit my suggestion with a response, and instead, strides across to his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of thick grey sweatpants and a matching T-shirt, then chucks them on the bed next to me.

  “Thanks,” I say, still not budging from my duvet hide-out, in case he sees more of me than I want him to.

  Tossing him an are-you-going-to-watch look, I swear he almost smiles before shaking his head and leaving me to change. He closes the door on me, and I instantly feel a sense of relief. How does he always manage to make me feel so small, like an insolent teenager who needs her ass spanked to bring her in line?

  I’ll bet he would enjoy spanking my ass, too. It’s written all over his face: he wants me, but not in the same way Addy does. No doubt Hunter wants to own every inch of my body, but I can’t picture him making love to me; I can only picture him destroying me.

  I recall the poem I wrote back at my cousin’s wedding while dancing with my friends and trying to avoid his weighted gaze.

  I love the way he scares me

  So wild and carefree

  I wonder about holding his hand

  If he could ever care or understand ~ B.B (Age 16.)

  That was the first time I had gotten the feeling I have right now. I might as well be right back there. Time might have changed us but apparently my heart didn’t get the memo.

  After slipping into his T-shirt and sweatpants, I fold the waistband over twice, as they are ridiculously huge on me. Despite being around ten sizes too big, they feel so much better than the scrap of clingy material I’d been wearing.

  I glance around his room; everything is deep red and black and there isn’t much in there aside from retro images of all the big names in boxing history. Romeo would have loved everything about this room. He had all of the same faces on giant posters in our caravan growing up. It was the thing he was most looking forward to when we moved into our house, having more room to work out and hang posters. At least he got the posters but his days of working out were long over.

  On the bedside table is a sketchpad, and I can’t help taking a peek; I didn’t have Hunter down as the sketching type. As soon as I flip open the cardboard cover, my heart starts racing when I find myself staring back at me from the page. Sleeping, with a peaceful look across my face, mascara smudged around my eyes, and my lips slightly parted.

  The drawing is all in pencil, but the shading is exquisite. It’s like looking in the mirror and had obviously been drawn last night, as that was the only time Hunter had ever seen me sleeping. The way he had drawn me, made me look like some kind of divine sleeping angel.

  I’m almost too scared to flick through the rest of the book. It’s every inch as much of a betrayal of trust as him reading my journal, but I don’t care. Curiosity got the cat, and I turn to the previous page, completely thrown by the image of me dipping my toe in the brook behind our house.

  No one knows that brook is there, or so I thought. The surrounding area is mostly overgrown grassland, and it's my secret place to escape. I hadn’t been there for some time, but when I was last there, I was carrying my flip flops, just like in the picture, and had dipped my toes in the water, with my face titled up to the sun. I had no idea anyone else had been there, let alone him.

  I flip another page. A profile sketch of me driving my car.

  Another page. Me, aged around fifteen, sunbathing in my grandma’s deckchair and wearing my pink ruffle bikini.

  Page turn. Me, crying after finding out my brother would never walk again.

  Page flip. Another one of me by the brook. This time, wrapped up in my raincoat and wellies with my hood up. The sketch was done from behind, but there’s no denying it’s me.

  Page flip. A close up of me laughing, wearing a knitted polo neck jumper on Boxing Day when Hunter’s family had come over to mine for Turkey sandwiches and left-over party crackers. We’d both gotten in trouble that day for throwing food; Hunter’s fault since he catapulted the first pea at me across the table. My eyes danced in the picture and my smile was vivacious and beguiling at the same time.

  This is how he sees me. Every memory I have of him is tainted with malaise, yet here he is, sketching out memories of me, so beautifully depicted it made it impossible to ignore the fact that had been staring me in the face the entire time.

  He loves me.

  Hunter Ryan loves me, and that’s the reason he wants to go through with this marriage.

  Not because he is bound by duty or tradition.

  Not out of respect for his parents.

  Not to save face to our community.

  He is doing this because he loves me, and all this time, I’ve been oblivious to the signs. Too busy hating him to even consider how he feels about me.

  I assume he hated me back. His words were usually cold and cutting, and he spoke about me like I was a piece of steak he was going to purchase and feed on rather than a woman he was in love with.

  But it was all a lie.

  His true feelings are indisputable. Blatantly clear in sketch after sketch of me. I have no idea how I feel about this new revelation. All I know is I need to get as far away from Hunter as possible.

  Snapping the book shut, I carefully slide it back in to position on his bedside table and head downstairs to find Hunter making coffee in the kitchen. The downstairs is black and white with more retro boxing prints hanging from the wall. It’s unusual for someone in our community to have their own space, and it serves as a reminder of the level of respect everyone has for him as a fighter. Usually, people our age live with their parents until they get married, but Hunter had protested he couldn’t work out properly or get a decent night's sleep with all of his brothers and sisters causing continuous chaos at their place.

  “Coffee?” he asks me like he is talking to a real estate agent, his tone void of any emotion, but when he turns to see me standing head to toe in his clothes, his expression does the talking for him.

  I wonder what he would sketch if he were to draw me right now. What does he see when he looks at me. I don’t feel pretty or feminine under his revering stare, I feel desirable and sexy. The vixen inside of me wants to run toward him, wrap my legs around his waist, arms around his thick neck, and steal one of his kisses the way he had stolen mine.

  He steps forward, and for a second, I think we share the same thought. His frown lines reappear along with his menacing glare, throwing my thought out the window, along with the ridiculous notion there could ever be anything between Hunter and I.

  “I’m good, thanks. Are you sure you don’t mind taking me home?”

  “Back to uni you mean? That’s not your home, but no, I don’t mind.”

  He’s right, it’s not my home, but neither is this place. It never will be. I could never live with him here as his wife.

  We are enemies. It’s all we know how to be.

  Chapter Ten

  Hunter

  I pound the bag so hard I might knock it off its chain, because fucking Bella. In my bed. In my head. In my goddamn clothes. Just when I’d pledged to get over this girl, she switched up the game so hard, I had no idea how to play anymore. Her brown hair was loose and wild this morning and even with her smudged make-up and bloodshot eyes, she’d looked as hot as ever.

  “Time,” Pete barks at me.

  I ignore him, needing to burn off the adrenalin that had been pumping through my veins since I saw her wearing my fucking sweatpants. Seeing
her in the dress last night was lethal, but seeing her in my clothes this morning? That shit was straight up suicide.

  “I said cool it. What’s gotten into you, H? This is not the time to be losing your head.”

  “Why?” I spit out. We had no fights coming up; I’d just had my last one and almost lost it thanks to the goddess with a smart mouth and attitude problem.

  “I’ve got somethin’ lined up for you. But, I’m not givin’ it to ya’ until ya’ simmer down.”

  “What kind of a somthin’? Don’t mess with me Pete. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Two words: Theo Milarani.

  “Yeah, right,” I jeer, turning my attention back to the swinging bag in front of me.

  When Pete stands his ground, I revert my gaze back to lock eyes with him. From his deadlock stare I can tell he’s deadly serious, and I pull him in with my gloved fists, pumping one of them against his back. “No fucking way. I knew you could do it.”

  “You did it, Hunter. This was all you. Three years you’ve been working ya’ ass off; you deserve this, but you’re only gonna get one chance. Do or die. You lose this fight, and your career is over. Dead. Buried…”

  “I get it. There’s no way I’m gonna lose. You know this. You’ve known it since you agreed to train me for cents back when that was all I had.”

  “Aye, son. But, I need you to know it. If your head’s all over the place over some chick, you’ll fuck up ya’ chances before you even set foot in the ring.”

  “How do you know it’s about some chick?”

  “Always is,” he mutters with a faraway look in his eyes, and I wonder who he’s thinking of. We didn’t do talking; we communicated only with our fists, and it struck me in this moment that I know very little about Pete’s personal life, despite him being such a huge part of my life all these years.