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“Thank you,” she muttered.
“What is mine is yours. You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” I whispered to her, my deep voice making the words harder to understand.
And like her body had a timer, her cheeks started to redden. I grinned at my wife’s reaction to me. It was gratifying.
Standing, I buttoned my suit. I wished I could stay with her all night but the excessive vibrating phone in my slacks told me I was needed at the club.
“Jason is going to be here if you need him. But you can call me if you need to. There’s a new phone in the drawer of our bedside table. I won’t be home until tomorrow morning. Sleep well, my sweet Mia.” I pecked the crown of her head and walked out of the room, the subtle hint of her fruity shampoo against my nose.
Chapter Eleven
MIA
Once again, he left me shocked at his simple action of affection. It shouldn’t startle me like it did.
But as trauma would have it, I still couldn’t picture any man holding or touching me unless it was to hurt me. I still stood aware of who and what was around me. My anxiety riddled my body each time he was near, and yet a calmness along with it.
It was contradicting. And I was confused. I didn’t want him to lull me into a false sense of security.
There was no exaggeration on my part that I would never make it out of the marriage alive if Galdur was to turn the dial, revealing himself as what the rumors described.
I barely survived with Ilya. By a stroke of luck, I was able to escape his grasp within an inch of my life. It wouldn’t be the same with Elias. He was better in every sense of the word.
People feared him for his brutality but revered him for his power and intellect. I feared those rumors were but a fraction of what my husband was capable of, and wished never to be on the receiving end of his ruthlessness.
I claimed to still be aware; my guard wall made of stone like his surrounding this castle he called our home, but I was becoming comfortable, more friendly.
I hated myself for it, but I ached to be free; let loose. No worries that my husband would humiliate and murder me.
He asked for me to call him Elias, but I felt that was personal; too intimate. I fear it would sedate the side of me that wanted to keep my husband at arm's length.
It would make him seem more human in my eyes and not like the nightmare I heard him to be.
Nonetheless, I repeated his name on my lips over and over; loving how it rolled on my tongue. He was my husband after all. I was allowed to revel in his touch or the way his name warmed my mouth.
My sweet Mia.
That’s what he called me. It sent a shock to my most tender canal. So much so that I gripped the steel fork and held my thumb against its sharp edges. Pushing until I only felt the pain; the blood seeping from the dents made.
It was my way of reminding myself about the horrors of Ilya. How I once let my naivety land me in a marriage with a man that caused me nothing but pain.
It was almost a week of marriage to Elias. It was not enough time to know if he was truly the man who supported my clueless raid to find a hobby or the man who fed his starving wife.
Even so, I had to feign indifference when Elias told me he was leaving for the night. This is what made men did; marry one woman for status and power while they screwed the whores they wanted on the side.
Despite that, my husband told me in that chapel “Mia Flores, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.”
Was I fool to believe he would keep his word, especially in the presence of everything holy?
He said it with so much conviction, for a moment, I granted him the benefit of the doubt.
Still showing the naivety of a 21-year-old, no different from when I was 18 years old.
I hit the band of my ring against the crystal.
Should I confront him?
My past self shouted no. The memory of Ilya flicked through my brain showing me why it was never a good idea to ask these types of men about their affairs.
