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“Everybody called you that,” I say.
“But it sounded so beautiful when you said it . . .”
He’s pulling me closer against his body. I try to keep the space between us, but it’s like swimming against the tide. He’s so much stronger than me.
He pulls me right up against his chest so I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
“Say it,” he orders. “Call me Ollie.”
“Okay . . . Ollie . . .” I say.
“Perfect,” he sighs.
He bends down his head to kiss me.
His lips feel thick and rubbery against mine. They’re too wet, and that metallic note is in his saliva as well.
I can’t do it. I can’t kiss him.
I shove him away from me, wiping my mouth on the back of my arm atavistically.
Oliver folds his arms over his broad chest, frowning.
“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” he says. “I know you’re miserable with the Griffins. I took you away from that. I brought you here instead, to the most beautiful place in the state. Look at that view!”
He gestures out the window to the pale, moonlit sand, and the dark water beyond.
“You won’t kiss me, but you kiss him, don’t you?” he says, eyes narrowed. “You’ve probably fucked him, too. Haven’t you? HAVEN’T YOU?”
I know it’s only going to make him angrier, but there’s no point lying about it.
“We’re married,” I remind him.
“But you don’t love him,” Oliver says, eyes gleaming. “Say you don’t love him.”
I should just go along with it. The hammer is still laying on the counter, only a couple of feet away. Oliver could snatch it up again any moment. He could bring it down on my skull with the same fury he applied to the ring.
I should say whatever he wants. Do whatever he wants. I never told Callum I loved him. It shouldn’t be hard to say that I don’t.
I open my mouth. But nothing comes out.
“No,” Oliver says, shaking his head slowly. “No, that’s not true. You don’t love him. You only married him because you had to. You don’t care about him, not really.”
I press my lips together hard.
I’m thinking about Callum pushing me back against the leather seats and putting his face between my thighs in the back of the town car. I’m thinking about how he wrapped his arms around me and jumped down in that pipe without hesitation when the Butcher’s men had their guns pointed at us. I’m thinking how he said we should work together every day. And how he took my hand at dinner last night.
“Actually . . .” I say slowly. “I do. I do love him.”
“NO, YOU DON’T!” Oliver roars.
He backhands me across the face, knocking me to the floor. It’s like being swiped by a bear paw. There’s so much force behind it that my whole body goes limp, and I barely catch myself before I hit the floor.
I can taste iron in my mouth. My ears are ringing.
I spit a little blood out on the floor.
“Just take me home,” I mutter. “You’re not going to get what you want.”
