THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance by Elena Monroe (best big ereader txt) 📗

as drunk from sitting next to him. My eyes traced every severely beautiful feature he had to offer as he stared ahead. His long, lean arms and legs that made me feel small and protected. His lips that now belonged to me in all their rosy glory. His perfectly disheveled, bleach blonde hair, all pushed to one side, making his eyes stand out even more.  His glowing ivory skin that made him seem normal and healthy even though I knew better paired with the smell of booze currently poisoning the car.

If I could only just find something to speak to me within his ashen, smoky eyes then I could still hold onto the parts of him I used to know. If I could find the parts that were untouched by the bad in our lives, then I could survive.

“I’m always drunk. Better get used to it,” his voice was a dull blade to all the memories I held close of him when his eyes met mine.

“Well, you aren’t driving drunk.”

I looked at him with anger and disgust while waiting for whatever excuse he could possibly create that made it acceptable to drive home drunk.

“Do you have a driver’s license?” Drunk or not, he had a point that I couldn’t argue with.

I got out of the car, hearing my heels against the concrete as I made my way to the driver’s side. Standing there, I bent down to his window. “Get out of the car. I’m driving. You aren’t getting out of marrying me that easily, but nice try.”

Pulling the door open, I waited for him to get out when he tossed the empty nip of Hennessy to the back seat. “Have it your way, Princess, you always do.”

A memory flooded to my present from the past and I had no choice as I was dragged back into it.

“Always such a Princess, but you get to be Bowen’s knight in shining armor too?” Braeden’s grip was unapologetic on the sensitive skin above my elbow while his voice soaked into my skin like raindrops. 

“What are you talking about? Get off.”

There was no real use in fighting Bowen’s twin brother, everything he lacked was compensated for in Braeden: muscles, the cold exterior, the ever-changing appearance so no one could ever get used to him, those eyes that burned copper, and his voice that always sounded like a strangled scream. 

Braeden was mad because Bowen didn’t live by the same rules under their parents’ roof, and by proxy, neither did I. Their mom had already slapped down a firm hand when Braeden showed up drunk in the doorway as we were escaping.

Slumped over like a discarded puppet, he held his keys in one hand and a bottle in the other as he came to life at the sight of us. 

All of this garnered their parents’ attention when they came running for their precious damaged good. 

He was broken in ways Bowen never was.

Bowen being the good person he was, tried to slip the bottle out of his hand from behind his back to keep it hidden. Braeden’s open hand reached out and slammed across his cheek leaving only

a pinch of pink and water in Bowen’s eyes. Being his best friend, I always shoved myself between them in the hopes of being a buffer. 

I could take it when I knew Bowen couldn’t. 

I could be tough if it meant letting him be benevolent. 

Braeden managed to snag my elbow when I side stepped between him ready with closed fists, ready for the regret of his parents banning me from their house for hitting their favorite child. They didn’t even make any moves to protect one twin from the other; simply let me do it instead. 

Pushing me back against the table, there was nowhere to go when his mouth found the nape of my neck before he whispered, “He always protects you. You basically live here, in our castle, up in his room like a fucking Princess no one can save except him; living a life that isn’t yours. But you don’t need any saving, do you, Princess?” 

Braeden was never a fan of me being here, it meant his days of harassing his brother were over.  He enjoyed watching Bowen almost die every time his tricks turned sinister, and now I was their buffer, wedged between two polar opposite twins. 

Pushing my knee up between us, I managed to collide with the sensitive parts of him in return for pinching my elbow until I winced. Backing off quickly, he clutched his crotch, eyes wild and words venomous, “Always your way.”

Getting out, he flicked the butt of his cigarette, standing up to his full height that towered over me even in heels. It was like staring into the eyes of Braeden; he was wearing sin like it was elegant.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, tempting him to do worse if he wanted to hurt me.

Rounding the passenger’s side, he got in without answering me until I sat down, and I took off my heels, so they didn’t get in the way of me driving. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Me leaving? 

Our arranged marriage?

Driving home?

He could really take his pick of all the ways I don’t control my life that he perceives as me getting my way.

Shifting the car into drive, I looked out of the mirror to see if it was safe to pull away from the curb even though I really didn’t know what I was doing. I was never taught to drive because I was always driven. My mother told me: we’re royal now darling, we don’t need to do mundane tasks anymore.

Mundane was just another lock on my cage. Now, here I am, dropped into a drunk’s lap in LA with no way of being independent.

Almost colliding with another car, I pressed on the