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“And you shouldn’t make yourself so at home in other people’s houses.” There is a sick kind of amusement in his voice. He is pleased with himself for startling me, and if I didn’t think he’d hit me right back, I’d slap him.
I turn to face him, our bodies separated by no more than a few inches, and stand tall, shoulders back. “What’s mine is yours, right?”
His eyes narrow. “Not for five more days. And thanks to me, the wedding will go on as scheduled. I just ordered a cake, asked my tailor to get a tuxedo ready for me, and hired a designer to do your dress. No wife of mine will wear something off the rack.”
Every word is an insult.See how much better I am at this than you? See how ineffective you are?Even still, I can’t help but be impressed. He was gone for ten minutes and did more than I could in two hours. It is just another testament to how much power he has. To how many people will bend at a single command from his lips. I refuse to be one of those people.
“How joyous,” I say, voice sticky with sarcasm.
Luka looks down his nose at me, his wide mouth pressed into a sultry line, and reaches into his back pocket. When he opens his palm between us, there is a thin gold bracelet sitting there. It is delicate and beautiful, and I furrow my brow, trying to understand why he would give me jewelry.
Taking advantage of my confusion, Luka grabs my wrist and locks the bracelet into place. It fits perfectly around my wrist, two gold plates at the back sliding into one another like no other jewelry fastener I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t try to take it off,” he says. “You won’t be able to. This will let me know where you are at all times. If you try to leave this house without my permission, I will know.”
I stare down at the bracelet as if it is a snake wrapped around my arm, constricting my blood flow. It is a delicate, beautiful chain. A symbol of my enslavement. I run my finger across it and can almost feel it singe my skin.
“I thought love was all about trust,” I say, my lip pulled back in a sneer.
His mouth curves into a smile, and despite everything I know about Luka, despite my hatred for him and everything he has done, my heart stutters. He is beautiful. His finger curls under my chin for just a moment before I can wrench my face out of his reach.
Luka laughs as he turns away. “Good thing we aren’t in love.”
10
Eve
Luka doesn’t let me finish cooking dinner or even turn off the stove. He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the kitchen, my heels digging into the floor the entire way. When we reach the stairs, he wraps an arm around my waist and picks me up.
“Put me down,” I scream, my voice echoing off the marble floors and high ceiling. I know there are other soldiers and guards lurking around the house, but none of them respond to the sound of my distress.
“If you don’t stop kicking,” Luka grunts—the only sign my struggle is having any effect on him – “we will both fall down the stairs.”
I dig my fingers into his muscly shoulder, amazed by how thick and solid he is. “That is a risk I’m willing to take.”
Luka sets me down momentarily on the stairs, pins my arms to my side, and then picks me up again, carrying me like I’m a rolled-up carpet. “Well, I’m not. I haven’t survived ambushes and gun fights to be ended by a stubborn woman on a set of stairs.”
I want to kick him in the knees and push him backwards, but when I look over his shoulder, I realize how far from the ground we are. It wouldn’t be a simple tumble down the stairs. There would be broken bones and blood. So, I grit my teeth and let him climb the rest of the stairs, but as soon as we reach the top landing, I fight like a cat caught in a burlap bag. Finally, Luka lets me go.
“Your room is this way,” he says, nodding his head down the hallway to the right.
Your room. A dread I didn’t realizing I was carrying lifts off my shoulders. “I have my own room?”
Luka points down the hallway impatiently. “I’m not going to give you the chance to stab me in my sleep.”
The hallway upstairs is in the same modern style as the rest of the house. Everything white, shiny, and smooth. It is more like a museum than a house. I’m grudgingly admiring the décor when suddenly, Luka grabs my arm and pulls me backwards. I yelp and struggle against his grip, and Luka lets go just as quickly. He tips his head towards a solid wooden door to our left. “Your room.”
I turn the handle, step inside, and try to shut the door behind me, but Luka’s booted foot wedges between the door and the frame. Even with my entire body pressing against the door, he opens it with what appears to be very little effort.
“I thought this wasmyroom.” I cross my arms, feeling like a petulant teenager.
Luka ignores me and walks into the room. “Bed, desk, and a brand-new wardrobe. We can send for more of your personal things after the wedding.”
I follow his eyes to the wooden armoire in the corner and walk over and pull the doors open. I’m met with a wall of black and red and lace. It looks like I’ve stumbled into the closet of a desperate housewife. My dresser at home is full of jeans, t-shirts, and ratty sweatpants. Searching for anything that I would even remotely consider wearing, I open one of the drawers in the bottom of the armoire and blush a deep red the same color as the thongs and matching bras in the drawer.
“I’m not wearing this.” I slam the drawer shut and tighten my arms around myself. “I’m not wearing someone else’s lingerie.”
“They are brand new.”
