Mistakes Made (Mission Mercenaries #2) Read Online Marie James

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Mission Mercenaries Series by Marie James
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
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I feel a sense of relief wash over me when he steps away.

Silence isn't something that I'm awarded very often.

I see this as an opportunity.

As Jackson walks in one direction, I turn around and walk in the other.

I don't consider this rebellious.

I'm doing what my father told me to do. I'm out here having a polite conversation with this man. It's not my fault that that conversation isn't important enough to Jackson.

These are the arguments I have in my own head.

These are the conversations I plan for.

It's always in defense of myself.

It's always I did this because of this. I did this because of someone else. It's never because I wanted to. Because I wanted to is not enough of a good reason for my father.

I wanted to give him privacy is what I would tell my mother if she asked me why we were walking in opposite directions of each other. He said it was important. I didn't want to make him think I'm a nosy woman. Nosy women don't make good wives.

All these thoughts run through my head as darkness shrouds me.

I don't know if I would be a perfect wife. I don't even know if I want to get married. Honestly, what I do know is that I have to be perceived as the perfect wife, as a woman willing to sacrifice everything for her husband, as a woman who is expected to turn a blind eye to the extramarital affairs, as a woman who supports her husband without blinking. That's what I'm expected to be.

Just thinking of the what-ifs, just considering how my life is going to end up, makes me want to run right into the ocean.

It makes me wish a wave would carry me to a deserted island where I could live in peace.

I want to convince myself that things will be better, that things will calm down once the presidential race is over, but I have too much experience with the day-to-day life of politicians to fully convince myself of that.

There's always another campaign. There's always another election. There's always another donor to meet with. There's always another person to smile at, always another person to convince to align with my father’s political ideals.

I hate it.

I'd never say that out loud, and it took me a very long time to admit that even in my own head, but some days I wish I was never born.

My toes dig into the sand, much like it did earlier today, but it's been hours since the sun went down, and the earth is no longer warm under my feet.

Just being here, just walking along with the sound of waves lapping at the shore, makes me think back to earlier.

It makes me want to be one of those other women that I saw.

Not specifically the women with their husbands or the women with their families, but the women who could laugh and flirt. The women who get to make their own decisions. The women who don't have to worry about what the next person is saying about them.

Just for a day.

Just for a day I'd like to be one of those women. I'd like to see what it's like to not have to care about anything but having a good time.

The sad truth of my reality is that I will never be one of those women, and even thinking about it is a waste of time.

Chapter 3

Liam

I nod at the waiter in thanks as I pull a glass of champagne from the tray he’s carrying.

He doesn't notice.

He doesn't care.

He's here to do a job, get paid, and go home.

I understand the concept. I know what it's like to do that very same thing day in and day out. I have no idea why I'm here. I don't belong, but the people surrounding me don't know that. My tux is just as designer as the next. My smile is just as bright as I greet people and nod at them.

This is some sort of political event and considering it is, it honestly surprises me on how easy it was to just walk up off the beach and come inside.

It took me less than a minute to track her, and half that time to sweep my eyes over her. The hemline of her dress flirts with the bottom of her knees which seems on par with her age, but the shawl wrap ages her quite a lot. If I had a grandmother, I’d expect her to wear something like that. There’s a distinct difference in the young women here than I saw earlier at the beach. The room is full of understated elegance. It feels dry and stuffy, boring even.

She's here giving everyone she meets that same fucking frustrating smile she gave to me earlier at the surf shop. It doesn't take me long to realize that it's instinct. The fake smile is what is expected.


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