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“I’ll never let you go now that I have you,” I reply while dropping my hands. I make my way to the bar stool that is hidden beneath the counter, slide it out, and plop down. “So, wife, what are you cooking?”
“Burgers,” she says with a long sigh, obviously still frustrated with me.
“Just burgers?”
I can see the sadness and embarrassment in her eyes when she turns around. “Just burgers.”
“Zolina, why do you look like someone shot your dog?” Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks as I joke. Damn it, I’m bad at this. I tentatively whisper to her, trying to be the husband I don’t think I can be. “Don’t cry.”
“I don’t know how to cook,” she whispers in embarrassment. “Since you made me breakfast, I wanted to make you lunch. Well, I was hungry, but I thought I should at least shove something in your mouth. It might keep you from always talking. But I don’t really know what I’m doing. They keep falling apart, and I don’t know if I should use seasonings or not and which ones if I do.” Her tears run down her face, her cries silent.
Ignoring the snarky comment, the fact that she is a “princess,” and that cooking for me is not her job, I stand up. I round the counter as she brings her hands up to her face, wiping her tears and trying to press the heel of her palms into her eyes.
“No,” I cover her hands with my own, prying them from her face. I will one day kill anyone who makes her feel like this, makes her feel worthless. It isn’t right. It isn’t normal to feel insignificant. “Don’t cry, Zolina. You don’t need to waste your tears on your parents’ failures. You are strong and kind. Just because you don’t know how to cook doesn’t mean you are a failure. You can out-dance anyone. You can make an entire room smile just by walking in. You will make a wonderful wife, even if you don’t know it yet.” I pick up and point the spatula at the bar stool I am no longer occupying, “Now, sit.”
For the next hour, I walk her through how to cook a burger. I place everything for the burgers on the bar, let her cut up the produce, and place the cheese on the patties. I continue to make my jokes while teaching her.
“Better?” I ask when we finally sit down to eat.
“For someone who laughs at everyone, thank you for not joking about that.”
“It’s like I told you, Zolina. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I will never laugh at you for things you don’t know how to do. I’ll teach you what I know, and maybe one day you’ll teach me things too.” I pause in thought. “Except torture. I won’t teach you how to kill someone. I’ll do it for you so you can keep your precious hands clean.”
~
While I told Zolina about everything happening and taught her to make lunch, I glanced out the window and noticed there were now at least three feet of white powder on the ground. It’s still falling from the sky, blanketing our cabin and trapping us in. Unless there’s a sled or a snowmobile in the shed out back, we aren’t leaving Sunday night like I originally planned. At least we’ll be safe and away from people. Now I have time to figure shit out. I have time to figure her out.
We are both sitting on the couch, and Zolina is snuggled under a knitted blanket. The fire rages in the hearth, and the room is warm, yet she insists on wrapping herself like a burrito.
“Okay, explain to me why you went through with marrying me. It's almost as if you didn’t want to either. My father would never harm me, Atlis. I don’t see your father doing anything either,” Zolina finally breaks the silence.
I turn my attention away from the window and over to her, “I told you the reason why I did this. I’m a man of my word. My father said I would marry you, and I did. I just can’t figure out why it had to be me. Why couldn’t it be my brother? You were already set to marry him. I still can’t figure this shit out. There’s just a bigger picture I can’t seem to put together. Oh, and who the fuck is Jezi? I know who she is, but I don’t know anything other than she’s your bodyguard.” I huff in frustration.
I just don't get it. Why fulfill an arranged marriage, ignoring her relationship with Kias that was within the public eye? It doesn't add up. We were brothers, so either way, my father would gain the same things to my knowledge.
“Jezi– JD– isn’t just my guard, she’s also my best friend. My dad hired her when I was fifteen, and she’s watched over me every day since.”
“Okay, but who is she? What's her history? Where did she come from?” I ask.
“She was born here in Noir, but she doesn’t talk much about herself. I guess I don’t know much about her. Why?”
“Just curious. Trying to put this puzzle together.”
“Is marrying me a bad thing? Like, I understand it’s what you said you would do, and I’m still fucking pissed. But, like, it’s done. So, what pieces are you trying to figure out? Do you know why I couldn’t marry Kias? Because you’re the one who killed him! Who's to say it couldn’t have been him?” She scrunches her face and tilts her head.
“Well, I think it’s slightly suspicious that your father has sent me gifts over the years. What was he trying to accomplish with that? The fact that he didn’t tell you about the contract of our marriage is a little surprising. I thought you knew. That’s why I was intentionally antagonizing you and Kias. Why did your father blindside you with everything? I mean, now it makes sense why you’ve hated me so much. I assumed you were dating my brother in spite. Why did they let you date Kias even though they knew I was set to marry you?” I let my eyes roam over to her sapphire ones. I swear I see a glimmer of annoyance when I mention my brother’s name. Maybe she wasn't entirely in love with him. “Anyway, they both have plenty of territory and money… so, what’s their gain?”
“I’m not sure. Ever since Mom died, things with him have been weird. But you said they met up twenty years ago, which means there could be a bigger picture. Maybe even pieces that we’ve looked over or missed. I don’t know. I’m as lost as you. Why did you let all these things happen? If you knew I was supposed to marry you, why didn’t you step in and say something?”
“I don’t know either, and I choose not to answer that question. Either way, I don't get paid enough for my opinions,” I reply, getting more irritated by the situation.
“You still didn’t answer my question, Atlis. Is marrying me so horrible?” She looks down at her lap, fingering the crochet blanket across her legs.
“No, Pet. Marrying you isn’t a bad thing.” I grab the corner of the blanket and toss it off, revealing her body and getting a quick view of her panties. Wrapping my hand around her ankle, I pull her body across the couch and pick her up, forcing her to straddle me. “We have been promised to each other. Nothing and no one can stop us now. Since before you were born, you have been mine, wife.”
“Atlis,” her breath quickens. Her hand reaches up, grazing her fingers gracefully over the ‘21’ tattooed on my face. “What does this represent?”
“You.” The look she gives me is full of curiosity. I can feel her pulse beneath my palms while I cradle her face in my hands. I drop one hand and move the other to hold her by the throat. Soon, she will push herself into my hand. When that day comes, I will fuck her until her last breath. “It represents the day that I could legally claim you as my own. The day you turned 21.”
