AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One I intend to solve.
Shooting at my family is not something I can allow to stand. It makes us look weak.
And that is one thing I am not.
“You can’t boss me about. I’m going to be your wife, not your bitch,” Elena grouses at me.
She’s wrong about that.
“You’re exactly what I say you are,” I tell her.
“If you wanted a servant, you’re marrying the wrong person.” She tugs her hands away from me, but I grab her by the wrists.
“This marriage isn’t what either of us wanted, I understand that, but make no mistakes. I don’t tolerate disobedience.”
Elena turns her head slightly to the side, considering me as if I’m a naughty dog. “You’ve never been in a relationship with a woman, have you?”
“I’ve been in plenty,” I counter. It’s not a lie, but most of the women I’ve been with wanted to please me. Elena doesn’t care if I’m satisfied or not. That’s new for me. I’ve never had to deal with someone like her. I place her left hand back on the towel and squirt the saline over the grazes. She hisses, trying to pull away, but I hold her firm. “I need to clean it. Keep still.”
“Your bedside manner could use some work.”
“Your general temperament could too.” I feel her eyes boring into my head, as if she could kill me with a look. I ignore her and continue to clean the debris from her hands, relishing the feel of her against me.
Right now, I feel at ease. Calm. Usually, my mind is filled with intrusive thoughts that infiltrate my consciousness in the worst kind of ways. I see death everywhere.
Blood.
Carnage.
With her there is just… peace.
“When we’re married, are we going to live here?” she asks, glancing around the kitchen.
My home is well decorated, clean, and stylish. My sister helped me with an interior designer shortly after I moved in. The kitchen has heavy light granite tops and a huge island that forms part of the breakfast bar but also has the sink installed there too. There’s a double oven that is top of the range and a large fridge-freezer in a recess in the wall. There is also a walk-in pantry that my sister had squealed at when she saw it.
I didn’t consider for a moment that my bride might not like it.
I cock my brow at her question. “Is there something wrong with the house?”
“It’s a little… showy.” Her nose wrinkles.
“Would you rather live in a shoebox flat in the centre of London?”
“I’d rather live somewhere I’m not scared to sit in,” she counters.
“Elena, your father lives in a mansion.” This is surely not new to her. This lifestyle is one she is used to. The woman is from money. I know she likes finer things. The clothes she’s wearing are not from the high street—even the jeans. I can tell her jacket is real leather, expensive too, as are her boots.
“Yeah, but our house is… cosy. This feels like a mausoleum.”
Irritation claws at me. “And what would make it less…mausoleum-like?”
“I don’t know. Less marble. More rugs. Some personal things. I’m scared to touch anything.”
Irritation skitters through me.
“If you don’t like the house, pick something else. I don’t give a shit where we live.”
Her eyes narrow at my statement. “You’d move, just because I don’t like the place?”
