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“Now,” he says, “go back downstairs like a good little whore and take care of your goddamn guests. That’s what Dami expects from you until you run away.”
“Fuck you.”
He reaches for me, but my expression must’ve stopped him.
I’m hurt, and I’m beyond caring who sees the semen on my dress. “If you touch me again, I’ll scream.” I’ll scream the roof off. It’s not the kind of attention I’d like to draw to myself, especially not now, but I’ll do it.
Clenching his fist, he lowers his hand.
I use the opportunity to escape upstairs. It’s not until I’m on the landing that I hear the voices coming from Damian’s bedroom, his and a woman’s. I slow my pace, my heart sloshing around in my chest. I’m almost at the door when Anne exits, her hair messy and her cheeks red. When she sees me, she irons out the wrinkles in her dress and gives me a sweet smile before darting pass.
Chapter 15
Damian
At the sight of my wife, I stop dead. “Lina.”
She’s standing on the landing just outside our bedroom door. Her face is ashen and her big eyes a fraction too wide.
“What are you doing?” I reach for her, but she pulls back.
“What are you doing?”
Is that an accusation in her voice? Could my unwilling little wife be jealous? She saw Anne leave our room. No doubt about that.
I lift the shawl to show her. It’s a long one that would fall to her knees. “I came to get you this so you could get up from the table, but I see you managed just fine.”
Yanking the shawl from my hand, she walks past me. “Too little, too late, but thanks for your concern, anyway.”
I let her escape into our room. This is a conversation we’re having in private. I follow and shut the door. There are too many ears around, tonight.
At the sound of the click, she flings around. Her eyes turn wider, and her chest heaves with fast, little breaths.
“It’s not locked,” I say in a placating tone. “The door is only closed for privacy.”
“Get out.”
“This is my room, too.”
She grips her hair and tries to barge past me. “What am I saying? This is your room. Stay. I’ll find another.”
I take hold of her arm. “Our room, and like hell you’ll find another.”
“Let go.”
“Calm down.”
“I am calm.”
“You’re not.”
She makes a visible effort to control herself, breathing in and out slowly.
“That’s better. Deep breaths.” I let go, ready to grab her if she tries to flee again. This isn’t claustrophobia. It’s something else, and it makes a huge red flag pop up in my mind. I’ve been ignoring this for long enough. I’m done giving her slack.
“Why are you afraid of closed doors, Lina?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Anne is your mistress?”
“For the obvious reason that she’s not.”
“I saw her. You. Coming out of here.”
“It’s not what it seems like.”
She huffs. “You know what? You don’t owe me an explanation.”
I catch her wrist when she tries to slide past me again. “Yes, I do. I’m your husband.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not like we married for love or promised to be faithful.”
Wrong thing to say. The gentleness the situation requires vanishes as the patience I set out with snaps. Despite the inner voice of my reason, I slam her body against the wall, hearing the little humph as her breath leaves her.
“You’re wrong on that one, wife. You promised faithful along with your obedience, body, and affection the day you said your vows in a black dress.”
She stares at me with her pretty blue eyes, her anger gone and caution in its place. “Affection can’t be forced.”
“Obedience can.” Wrapping my hand around her neck, I let my thumb rest on the frantic pulse of her jugular vein. “Maybe I haven’t been clear enough. Let me spell it out for you. If you touch another man, he’s dead. How’s that for communication?”
“I didn’t take you for a hypocrite.”
“I didn’t touch Anne. I came upstairs to fetch you a shawl. She followed me. She made a pass at me. Yes, she tried to kiss me. I said no. End of story.”
“I don’t care,” she whispers, averting her eyes.
“You do.”
She refuses to look at me. My wife is every bit as possessive as I am, and my chest glows warm with satisfaction, enough to calm me. Lina may not love me, but she doesn’t want to share me. I stroke my thumb up and down the arch of her neck. She’s so breakable, so small.
“You’re the one who asked her to say,” I remind her gently. “Say the word, and she’s gone.”
Her gaze lifts back to mine. “You didn’t tell me you fucked her.”
“I never did.”
Her brow wrinkles. “I thought she was your girlfriend in prison.”
“Why would you think that?”
“That’s what Zane said.”
The muscles in my face tighten. I feel it in the pull around my eyes and the strain in my jaw. “What exactly did he say?”
