by S. Nelson
Blind Devotion
Copyright © 2018 S. Nelson
Editor:
Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design:
CT Cover Creations
Interior Design & Formatting:
Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the publisher’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Blind Devotion/ S.Nelson.—1st edition
ISBN-13: 978–1983515040
ISBN-10: 1983515043
To anyone who has ever pushed aside their dreams, making up excuses as to why they couldn’t follow their heart. Now is the time to claim your destiny.
Table of Contents
Blind Devotion
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
Note to Reader
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by S. Nelson
Alina
“PLEASE DON’T SAY it,” I whispered, lowering my eyes to stare at the marble floor beneath my feet. The hemline of my gown swayed ever so slightly while I waited for fated words to rain down on me. So many images rushed in, mainly fantasies I had of a life I’d never get to live. A life of my own, one where I was in control of my own future. My own destiny. But no amount of dreaming would save me from my reality.
I prayed for time to stand still, but it was mere seconds before I heard him suck in air, expel a breath and speak the words I knew were inevitable.
“It’s time, Alina. You’re of age now, old enough to settle down and start a family. Chris is a fine choice, and will make a great husband and father.”
“But I don’t want to marry him,” I cried out, lifting my eyes in a last-ditch effort of battle, exasperation ebbing into every cell of my body.
“You don’t have a choice,” he countered, arching a brow at my tone.
My life had never been my own. My father made every major decision for me, from who I dated, to what college I attended, what degree I’d earn, which was a law degree just like him, and now apparently who I’d marry.
I fought him at every turn, but in the end, he always won. No one had ever gone up against the almighty powerful Randall Winthrop and came out the victor, including his only daughter.
“I should,” I replied in anger. “I should decide who I marry, who shares my bed and definitely who I breed with.” I chose the word “breed” because he was treating me as if I were nothing more than a prized thoroughbred, being paired off to give my owner champion offspring.
“Stop being so dramatic,” he chastised. “We’ve had this discussion a million times. I’m not risking having everything I’ve worked for wiped away in an instant because you wish to believe in some silly notion of true love.”
My father had grown up poor, but with hard work and determination to change the course of his life, he ended up founding the largest law firm on the entire east coast. Early on in his career, he’d taken on two partners, Brian Krueger and Curtis Donn, my father being the managing partner of the group. One day he’d hand down his position to me.
“What if I don’t want to inherit the firm someday? What if I want to follow my own path?” I was being stubborn, one of the attributes I had in common with my father.
I worked at Winthrop, Krueger, and Donn, half of my caseload being pro bono. It was my passion to help those less fortunate, to assist them in their time of need. Just because they couldn’t afford proper representation didn’t mean justice shouldn’t be served. My father allowed me to be the bleeding heart of the firm because he thought it made us look even more valuable in the eyes of the public. Sympathetic. Goliath fighting for David.
Anger embraced his demeanor, his otherwise cool façade cracking ever so slightly. “You know damn well you won’t walk away from the firm. Not when you can eventually employ an entire team dedicated to working for the indigent. And that, my dearest daughter, is more important to you than who you marry. We both know it. So stop resisting, and be happy. I know I am.”
“That’s only because you can control Chris, and I’m sure he’s agreed to an ironclad prenup.”
“There’s that,” he agreed. “But I wouldn’t have chosen him for you if he wasn’t a good man.”
While my father was a resolute man, I knew he loved me and would never make me marry someone who wasn’t kind.
Tiring of the back and forth, he stepped closer and gripped my shoulders. “You have to forget about the fantasy of meeting your knight in shining armor. That stuff doesn’t exist. Not in the real world. So stop reading your romance novels and get your head out of the clouds.” His words crushed whatever hope I had left that he would come around and take back his absurd request. Oh, who was I kidding? It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.
When he saw I was still holding fast to whatever resolve remained within, he changed his tone to a softer one. One of a father asking his only daughter to comply. “Don’t you want to make me happy, honey?” The slightest smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and I wanted nothing more than to keep that expression on his face for as long as possible. My father was a serious man, had always been. There were only a few precious memories I had when he’d been relaxed enough to laugh and really embrace the moment, most of them involving my mother before she died.
“Of course I do.”
“Then do this for me. No more arguing. Chris is a fine match.”
“I don’t trust him,” I revealed, knowing m
ost of my mistrust sprang from ignorance. I didn’t know Chris all that well, so how could I trust someone I barely knew. But my father didn’t take the bait.
“You’re just nervous.” He dismissed my comment, waving his hand in the air as if I was the one who was completely crazy for voicing any kind of concern. I was busy staring at the way the lighting from the chandelier above our heads reflected off the gray at his temples when he shocked me with an intrusive question, one that came right out of left field. “Have you slept with him yet?”
“Dad!” I exclaimed, a rush of heat spreading over my cheeks.
“Have you?” he repeated, completely oblivious to my embarrassment at having been asked if I’d spread my legs for the man I’d only been dating for a month.
“No.”
“Well, you need to correct that. And do it soon. It took me a while to find you a good match, and I don’t want you to mess it up because you’re holding on to some ideal of waiting.”
I blinked over and over, so rapidly I thought I’d fall over with dizziness. What the hell was happening? Were we really having this conversation? It was so absurd I thought for sure he’d break out in a smile and tell me our entire conversation was just some sort of prank. Then I quickly remembered my father didn’t joke around.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Of course not. Now, get yourself together. I’m announcing your engagement in the next hour.”
Grasping at straws, praying Chris had sense enough to realize what a rushed decision this was, I asked, “Did you tell Chris you plan on cementing his future tonight?”
“He knows, and he’s fully on board. He cares for you. I can tell by the way he looks at you.” That’s lust I wanted to blurt but didn’t want to encourage any more talk of sex from my father. “He’s agreed a fall wedding is best. No use in putting off your future.”
In the midst of our conversation, I’d resorted to pacing, still desperately trying to wrap my brain around all of it, but had quickly stopped when he mentioned a fall wedding. “What?” I screamed, lowering my voice when I saw the heated look on his face. “A fall wedding? That’s only five months from now.” A rush of emotions barreled through me, and because none of them would do me any good to express, I stomped my foot like some errant, spoiled brat before turning on my heel and hightailing it out of the room, my father shouting for me to come back. For once in my life, I ignored him, picking up the pace and disappearing back into the grand ballroom we’d been in before he snatched me and told me of his idiotic plan for my future.
Alina
THRONGS OF PEOPLE milled about, laughing and engaging in airs. The choke of propriety and haughtiness swirled through the space, stifling any original thoughts anyone might’ve had. Everyone dressed impeccably, what they’d spent on their outfits enough to feed a third world country. They carried on meaningless conversations about fashion and gossiping about who was sleeping with whom, of course, the latter being whispered amongst selective groups. I grew up around the wealthiest of people, the firm representing everyone from Hollywood A-listers, to Fortune 500 companies.
I loathed the faux concern people tried to express over important issues such as the environment and disease. All they really cared about was how many homes they owned and procuring the newest luxury vehicle, looking down on anyone who didn’t fit into their world. I’d bet most of them hadn’t even cared enough about their housekeepers or nannies to learn their names.
My hurried steps caused me to trip over the hem of my black floor-length evening gown, stumbling forward toward the ground. Before I face-planted, however, strong hands caught and helped stabilize me.
“I was looking for you.” Chris held me steady, dropping his hands when he saw how flustered I’d become.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, because I was indeed. Any woman would be. He was a handsome man, standing at six foot with broad shoulders and a slim waist. Wavy, sandy-blond hair adorned his head, the style kept short and professional. His eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, sometimes appearing green, depending on the lighting. Being a good kisser was another positive attribute of his.
“Where were you?” His tone was soft yet curt. I’d meant what I said when I’d told my father I didn’t trust him. He seemed nice enough, but there was something lurking behind the persona he showed the world. Again, maybe I was rushing toward unfettered conclusions, seeing as I hardly knew him well enough to say for sure.
“How could you agree to a fall wedding? We’ve barely been dating long enough to make any kind of life-altering decisions,” I rambled. “You don’t have to adhere to what my father wants just because of who he is.” I was positive my frustration for the entire situation was most assuredly causing quite the scene.
“Don’t you think we should talk about this in private?” A faint smell of alcohol wafted off him but not enough for me to believe he was in anyway impaired.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. All I want is a drink.” I tried to step around him, but he blocked my escape, grabbing my hand and pulling me close.
“Don’t fight this, Alina. You know how your father can be. Besides, would it be so horrible to be married to me?” He flashed his practiced megawatt smile, but instead of calling him out on his seeming lack of genuineness, I huffed, before snatching my hand back.
“I don’t want to marry you or anyone else for that matter.” Raising the hem of my dress that time, I successfully dodged his outstretched arm and stalked across the large room, ignoring anyone who tried to claim my attention. My patience had worn thin, and I swore if someone else tested me, I was going to lose it for sure.
Planting my frustrated ass in one of the empty seats at the bar, I wasted no time in waving to the bartender. I needed something strong to numb me to the fact my personal life was moving in a direction I didn’t want, one leaving me standing on the outside, as if I were a voyeur, someone completely disconnected. But I wasn’t. It was my life, although all the reins were held by someone else. Someone who was delusional in thinking he always knew what was best for me.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, slinging a towel over his right shoulder.
Knowing it wasn’t a drink I would typically order because of how strong it was, but realizing I needed the arms of detachment to drag me under, I said, “How about a scotch on the rocks?”
“I don’t think that’s what the lady really wants,” a stranger’s voice blurted. Shocker there was yet another man who thought he knew best. Someone else putting in his unwanted two cents and trying to make decisions for me.
I didn’t even bother to seek out the ass who interjected, instead telling the bartender to ignore the rude man and to bring me what I’d requested. He gave me a quick nod before disappearing toward the other end of the bar.
“You look more like a fruity drink kind of girl.” Without looking, I knew the unwanted intruder was sitting to my left. The roughness of his voice intrigued me, although I fought against it and kept looking straight ahead.
“First off, I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. Secondly, please butt out and mind your own business.” I found it difficult to exude any kind of civility.
“I’m just trying to be helpful. Scotch is a rough drink for someone like you. I just don’t want you to be sick later on. That would be a real shame.” His mocking tone was what made me finally turn my head, ready to tell him off all while having a fake smile plastered on my face so as not to draw too much attention.
“First off—”
“Oh no, not the countdown again,” he said mockingly.
“Do I know you?” As soon as he came into view, I needed a moment to stifle my surprise. He was a stranger, that much was for sure, and to make matters worse, or complicated, or whatever word would properly fit . . . he was breathtaking. A mixture of sophistication and ruggedness emanated so effortlessly from him, it was hard to distinguish just what type of man I was dealin
g with.
I tried not to blatantly stare, tried being the operative word, but my eyes raked over his features, trying to study him as best I could before looking away. My reaction to him confused me, and after several moments, I focused on the drink I’d just been served.
“You don’t know me,” I snapped, becoming a little flustered, “so please mind your own business.”
He spoke as if I hadn’t just told him to butt out of my affairs. “What’s got you so agitated you want to start off with the strong stuff?” He switched his seat so he was sitting directly next to me. The silence between us proved he was waiting for an answer, but he’d be waiting for quite some time because talking was the last thing I wanted to do. Drink. That was the only agenda I had from here on out that evening. “You don’t want to talk to me?” When I still didn’t respond, he smirked before draining the remaining liquid from his glass. Yeah, I ventured another quick glance in his direction. “That’s fine. I’m content just sitting next to the most beautiful woman in here.” The compliment, fake or not, mixed with the sexy rasp of his voice sent a tingle through me, but I’d be damned if I allowed him to see that he affected me in any way at all.
Bringing my drink to my lips, I made sure not to smell it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t’ve been brave enough to partake, and I didn’t want to seem weak in front of him. Why I cared about how he would perceive me, I had no idea, but I never gave the silly thought any merit before swallowing a healthy amount of the amber liquor. As soon as the alcohol slid down my throat, my body convulsed in a coughing fit. Shit, I forgot how strong this stuff is.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Before I could answer, his large hand hit my back several times, the heat of his palm warming me more than the alcohol ever could.
Once I’d gained my bearings, I dodged his next touch, shifting my body further away from him.
“I’m not your sweetheart, thank you very much,” I fumed, my lungs finally ceasing to convulse from the alcohol.
“You sure are a feisty one,” he retorted, sliding his chair even closer. His scent was most pleasing, a subtle mix of expensive cologne and something very male. I envisioned myself leaning into him to inhale more, but knew I never would. That would be completely inappropriate, and out of character, so I kept my rigid position, facing forward.