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"Stop it." She turns and pushes her face into mine. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me."
"Then get analyzed by a professional."
"No." She firms her lips.
"You know, you’re going to have to face what happened to you, don’t you?"
"Maybe I don’t want to." She sighs and turns her head away. "I’m not stupid. I know what happened to me is life-changing. And I will face it. Just not yet, okay? I just need to figure out how to salvage my career first."
"Maybe the way to reclaim your career is by first reclaiming yourself."
She stills, then a reluctant chuckle spills from her lips. "When did you get so wise?"
"When did you get so stupid?"
"A-n-d there he is, the asshole I met at the bar."
"Alphahole actually."
She scoffs. "That’s so trite, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say it."
"Even though you agree?"
"That you’re alpha enough to kill the man who might have pushed me into the kind of life I’d have little hope of escaping... and thereby, saving me? Yes, you are. Only, you spoiled it by manipulating me into marrying you."
"And I would do it again."
She searches my features. "Does it mean that much to you to have me in your life?”
"Yes."
Only, it’s more than that. I can’t function without having her connected to me. The thought of her with any other man makes me want to commit murder. And I don’t want bloodshed on my hands. Not more than necessary, that is. And killing Diego had been a necessity. I have zero regrets on that. Doesn’t mean I want to go around killing others, but if any other man touches her, I’ll do so without a second thought.
Something of my thoughts must reflect on my face, for her gaze widens. Her breathing grows rough. She looks between my eyes, then shakes her head.
"I don’t belong to anyone."
"You belong to me."
"I belong to myself," she argues.
"And you’re mine."
39
Olivia
Mine, mine, mine.
It shouldn’t affect me when he says that word, but I would be lying to myself if I said it doesn’t. He’s so confident about it. He has been from the moment I met him. If only I could allow myself to feel the same way. Because there’s no doubt, I’m attracted to him. The sex with him is explosive, and when I’m with him, I definitely feel protected… And all of it is a reminder of why I cannot allow myself to be dependent on him. If I open myself up to him, I’ll lose myself, and then, how will I be able to focus on making something of myself?
I glance out of the window at the raindrops that patter against the pane. We moved into a townhouse on Primrose Hill. Why am I not surprised he has a place in Primrose Hill? I wanted to refuse to stay with him because it didn’t feel right. He’s rich enough to afford prime real estate in this city, and I’m just a struggling actress. Don’t I completely fit the role of eye-candy on the arm of a rich prick?
I press my fingers against the glass, allowing the coolness to filter through them. Am I in danger of becoming a cliché? I press my forehead against the pane and peer through the rain-soaked sheet of glass. We’ve been here forty-eight hours, during which time I have, thankfully, seen little of my husband.
We landed in London a few hours after that conversation. A town car was waiting for us, and we were ushered to this house. I walked into the living room, and something about the wood flooring, the wide French windows that let the light pour in, the fireplace, the carpet, the deep leather settee, had made me relax my shoulders. Then, I walked into the adjoining room, discovered the library with the floor-to-ceiling bookcases stacked with books, and I literally salivated.
There’s a fireplace there, as well as a big comfortable armchair with a throw over it. I wanted to grab a few books, throw myself down in it, and not move. I lingered there, running my fingers over the spines of the books, trying not to give away how excited I was. When I tore myself away, he showed me the kitchen—a big, square space with doors that open into the back garden. The room itself is airy, with an island in the center and stools scattered around it. A double refrigerator, a gleaming oven, and utensils that hang off hooks on one side give it a homey feel. Best of all, it doesn’t join the living room, which means it’s completely separate, so you can cook and bake without having to worry about the food smell invading the rest of the house. I went to the door, glanced out at the deck, and he invited me to walk out. I walked to the railing and took in the wide sweep of the slope of the hill beyond the garden. To the side was an infinity pool, which seemed to join with the horizon.
