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Oh. Oh, that's why. Oh well. I knew it was going to be like this when I married him. No big deal.
We rode home in silence, but when the car stopped in front of the house—my house, it was my house now—he got out of the car with me and held the door as I dragged myself inside.
A note on the kitchen table from my father informed me that we were alone in the house—no doubt he'd run off to do some kind of work as well, or perhaps was going to meet my mother at her appointment—and for the first time since the night before I felt as though I could relax.
Except for the fact that Anton lingered in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and watching me.
"What?" I said. I was too tired to even try to be polite with him. "Don't you have to go back to work?"
"That can wait for a bit," he said.
I stared at him, not really understanding. "Okay," I said finally. "So... what? You want a quickie before you go back?"
"Well, yes," he admitted, "but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."
At least he was honest. I arched a brow at him, encouraging him to continue.
For the first time, I saw him truly hesitate, as though he were about to jump into water with depth unknown.
"Do your parents always walk all over you like that?" he asked me at last.
I laughed. "Oh, you noticed?" I said. I gave him a shrug. "I'm their only kid. My dad thinks I'm an asset and my mom thinks I'm a doll she can dress up."
He frowned faintly. "And you let them?"
I sighed and began to unbutton my coat. "I was doing pretty well keeping them off my back until you came into the picture," I said, then realized what I'd said. I put a hand over my mouth. "Oh, sorry," I said. "I didn't really mean it like that."
"Oh? Then how did you mean it?"
To my relief, he didn't seem angry. I rubbed my forehead and tried to think through the sleep-deprived fog shrouding my brain. "I mean that my life got very complicated. I didn't really talk to my dad before he showed up on my doorstep telling me I needed to marry you. And I hadn't seen my mother in a while. I talked to her on the phone once a week, but she lived in California and I lived here. There was distance." And I had liked that distance. Yeah, working long hours at the bar sucked and eating ramen five nights a week was terrible for me, but it was my shitty life and I'd been mostly free of their drama and control. But all that progress was turned back now, and I was back in the same place I had been in before I'd left home.
I shook my head. "It's not like they beat me or abused me or something," I said. "They just weren't great to have around. And now they're around again. I can't get away."
Anton pushed away from the door and came to stand in front of me as I shucked my coat from my shoulders and laid it over the nearest chair. "I don't think that's true," he said.
I tried not to roll my eyes at him and failed. "Oh yeah?" I said. "Well, you aren't me. I'm not you. I can't just command everyone to do my bidding with a word and a glance of those come-hither eyes."
"You think I have come-hither eyes?" he said, amused.
"Don't push it," I told him.
Anton smiled, real and genuine, not his Zen smile. He was amazing when he smiled. "You do have power, Felicia," he said. "You only have to learn to use it."
I shook my head. "I don't know how."
His face softened. Without warning, he reached out and pulled me to him. I stumbled, startled, against his chest, my hands coming up to brace myself, but the sensation of his hard body against the palms of my hands had me pausing, lingering, savoring.
His fingers trailed over my back, up my arms, and I listed into him, tilting my head back.
He gazed down at me with intense, green eyes, fixated on my lips. His hands slid up and up, until he cradled my head in his hands. A thumb alighted on my lips.
"Your voice," he said. "You must use your voice. Speak and make yourself be heard."
His other hand abandoned my face, slipping down my arm and coming up to cover my fingers where they lay against his chest. "And if people will not listen to you, you must do what you must. Use these hands. I've seen your art—there is power in you. Build your own life, Felicia."
Tears stung my eyes. How could he say such things to me? I had been coerced into marrying him. Nothing was mine any longer.
He seemed to read my mind, or perhaps my thoughts were plain on my face. Leaning in, he rested his forehead against mine.
