THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance, Elena Monroe [have you read this book .txt] 📗

if the truth is so ugly that it breaks you more too?” her voice was a whisper, one that dragged me closer when I kneeled onto my bed and found her eyes filling with tears.

Cupping her face in my hands, I didn’t let her head drop—whatever kind of ugly it was, it was mine. She was exposed in so many ways that it was easy to assess the scars she wore with no more filters or gloss that made them seem pretty. “I’m as damaged as they come, Evey. Tell me who he is.”

“He’s something worse than I can describe… He’s my stepbrother, the next in line to be King of Denmark... and the guy who-” her voice faded out like the rest was simply too hard to say out loud. I waited for her to pick up where she left off. “He was the one who punished me, he tailored the princess

shit to me like a glove, and I was forced to wear it. I hated every minute of acting like that and I know you hated it too, but it’s how I survived for you, Bowey.”

She wasn’t giving me the whole truth, but it was enough to point all my resources in his direction and make sure he gave me the truth without the tears.

Brushing my thumbs against her cheeks, I wiped the tears away like they never existed. It was too painful to see her cry, always had been.

Pushing my hands away, she sucked up the tears and sniffles and the toughness I had wanted back took over when she pushed my body further away too.

“You remind me of him when you’re like this, Bowen. You’re cold and mean until you see how badly it hurts me, then you play the nice guy like you are right now, wiping the tears away that you caused.”

My jaw tightened enough to swallow the kind of painful her words were. I was mean and I always regretted it, no lies there. I regret every ounce of awful I am and I have these moments of clarity that only Eve is capable of hand delivering to me.

I can’t abandon ship and pray to be someone new.

It’s easier to be the devil she doesn’t know than the wounded kid she knew before. That kid had no balls, no armor, and no idea how to handle life. Now I’m something different—something that apparently resembles the person taking credit for her wounds.

I went from being hurt to being pushed down against the pillows as she straddled my legs. “I need you, Bowen, not the whiplash of figuring out which version you’ll be each day because you want to make demands. You don’t get to tell me who I am after everything we’ve been through... it’s not easy to undo years of doing, but I’m your Evey, and I always will be. Can you be my Bowey for me or not?”

It didn’t sound like I had a choice. It sounded like demands and both my heart and my dick were okay with meeting all of her demands.

Simply nodding my head, I agreed to actively try to be less of an asshole to her without telling her it was always the plan once I got my Evey back.

My Evey didn’t deserve anything but the best parts of me.

EVE

I was dangerously close to telling him who Elias was, what Denmark was, when he shattered every part of me still holding onto survival.

It’s hard to survive; it’s harder to realize you’ve been saved. That set of skills die hard.

He wanted answers and the Bowen I used to know always had a way of getting them, with or without your help.

He chose cruelty with a side of kindness.

I never took into account that Bowen would resemble the enemy, that he would use the same tactics only wishing for a different outcome.

He wanted no trace of Denmark, but that shit was going to stain my soul, pretty princess or not. You can escape the worst places yet somehow you always take some of it with you.

What if he regrets having me back?

What if being his Evey only forces us to be honest about our wounds?

He said it himself, no refunds. I was an Astor now, and it wasn’t lost on me how beautiful he made the wedding he claimed to have no part in.

Each table had photos of us as kids along with little stories to go with them. Not even CeCe would know half of those stories—it was Bowey.

My Bowey, not the one who perfected regretting being nice.

Still straddling his legs after I made equal demands, I knew this was going to be painful and this position wasn’t going to make it any less painful.

Pain was comfortable after living in Denmark and being groomed for this role.

They had to break all my bad habits: individuality, my arrogant tone that loved to talk back, my independence, my selfish need to stay myself because that’s who Bowen knew best.

Breaking me was painful.

There were still shattered pieces of the old me living inside that stabbed through my surface when Bowen challenged me in a way I never thought he could. He always needed protecting, but now he was just as broken as I am—way past the point of protecting.

Lifting my hips up, my hands found his pants already undone. My fingertips toyed with the band on his boxer briefs enough to let my hand sneak down inside.

Bowen was already hard, and I knew it was because there was nothing pretty about me right now.

I was all the ugly he wanted.

“Eve.” Bowen’s voice was a warning against my skin when he sat up further, clutching onto my hands to keep them still, but we had barely even started.

His chest began to