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“Of course, you don’t. Why would you want to kiss your future husband? Why would you want to show even an ounce of affection?” Bitter laughter slips past his lips and into the space between us. I try to shrug off his hold, but his fingers dig deeper into my skin, holding me in place. Pain radiates down my arms from where he’s holding me, and I can’t stop the whimper that passes my lips.
“You’re hurting me,” I whisper, hoping the words will break through his foggy mind, but they don’t, in fact, they do the opposite. Without warning, his lips descend on mine, crashing against my lips with a fierceness that terrifies me.
There is no escaping him, his lips, his hands, they hold me in place. My lungs burn as I forget to breathe and instead, start to struggle against his hold, pressing my palms against his chest in an effort to put space between us.
My efforts are pointless, and instead of moving away, he steps closer, his chest pressing against mine. Deepening the kiss, his tongue enters my mouth without permission. Angry fire blooms inside of me, and somehow, I find the strength to fight back. I nip at his tongue hard, and instantly, he pulls away, taking a staggering step backward.
Shock paints his features before rage overtakes them, and I’m left cowering and shaking, like a puppy left out in the middle of winter.
Maybe I shouldn’t have bitten him? It was just a kiss, and he is my soon to be husband, after all. But the words feel wrong, all of this feels wrong. I said I didn’t want it. Tears start to fall without warning, staining my perfectly painted cheeks.
“Don’t be such a cry baby, it was only a kiss.
“I said I didn’t want to kiss you.”
“You expect us to be married and never kiss? You can’t be that naive.”
“If I change my mind about wanting to kiss, you’ll be the first one to know.”
“Whatever. We will still be married tomorrow, and you will be my wife. You’ll have to sleep with me eventually. I might not be a Bishop, but you’ll come to love my cock as much as you loved theirs…” His face twists into a cruel smile. The kind man I had met not long ago, has become someone I don’t know, and without even thinking about it, I cross the space between us, pull my hand back and land a hard slap against his cheek.
My skin burns at the contact against his, but I don’t care. I don’t care what happens next. All I know is that he will not talk about me like that. I won’t allow him to belittle what we had.
“You don’t know them, and you don’t know me,” I sneer, finding the strength to speak up for myself. I’m tired of being a doormat. “I might marry you on paper, but that doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with you. Especially not when you act like an asshole, like you are now.”
Matt’s jaw clenches, and his once soft eyes darken. He takes a threatening step toward me, with his hand raised, and I wonder briefly if he’s going to hit me? Before he gets a chance to do whatever it is he planned to do, one of my father’s guards appears.
“Your father has asked for your presence… alone,” Bert says softly, his eyes taking in the situation before him.
Releasing an anxious breath, I say, “Of course, where would he like me to meet him.”
“Outside, in the garden,” he says, and I make a move to follow the guard.
“Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow, wife.” I shudder at the tone of Matt’s words but nod in agreement. How am I going to do this? Marry a man that forces himself on me? Before tonight, I thought I could do this, but now, not so much. Matt is just as ruthless and scary as my father. His true colors finally coming to light.
Matt disappears down the hall, anger rippling from every pore on his body. I sag against the brick wall once he’s out of sight, relief flooding my veins. How did I end up here? There aren’t enough tears in the world. I’m exhausted, tired of crying, of pretending, of faking.
“Come with me, please,” Bert interrupts my thoughts, and a moment later starts down the hall without even looking to see if I follow. It takes a second, but I get my legs to work and follow behind him cautiously, unsure of where he may be taking me.
He did, after all, kidnap me once before.
“Thanks…” I almost say Bert, but I know that’s not his name.
“Milton,” he introduces himself, making me feel stupid. I really should have made an effort to remember his real name.
“Thank you, Milton.”
We walk down the hall, and then another until we reach a pair of French doors. Bert opens them and leads me outside. The night air is cool against my bare skin and goosebumps ripple across my arms.
