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Emelia drives me mad—truly and utterly mad. How can she be so quick to talk back, have a backbone with me, but then the second I show authority, she backs down? It's maddening. I can’t tell when she will be hotheaded or docile. If I can’t break her into being exactly one thing, this is going to be one of my hardest jobs yet. And that’s saying a lot, given my line of business. I want her to have a backbone, but not to use itagainstme. I want her respect. That’s it. Yet she defies me any chance she gets.
Taking her hand once the dance is over, I lead her out of the ballroom and straight to the waiting car. Her parents give her a pitiful half hug, her brother Sal and Lorenzo as well, but there is no emotion from them for her departure. It’s as if they couldn’t wait to send her off.
I don’t miss the way that hurts her either. The longing she has for her parents to just love her is prevalent and evident.
We don’t talk in the car while we make our way to the airport that is less than thirty minutes away. If I don’t leave the ground soon, I will miss important meetings. I plan to have a honeymoon later, since our marriage took place during many big deals to complete.
If I’m being truthful, a honeymoon isn't really needed. Honeymoons are for lovers, not arranged marriages between two people who couldn’t care less about being in one another’s company.
We get to the tarmac and rush up the steps and into the plane. The last thirty minutes are rushed, so I can be in the air on time.
Emelia takes time to look around the plane, taking in the dark mahogany wood accents and the cream-colored seats. There is a door to the back room, and I point it out to her. “Your bags are in there. Feel free to change. It’s a long flight.”
Moving, I grab the decanter of whiskey and pour it into a tumbler.
Once again, she leaves, swaying her hips and showing me the temptation of her round, luscious ass. I have to fight the urge to go back there and just fuck her out of my system.
She returns twenty minutes later, wearing leggings, an oversized shirt, and some long socks. Her hair is down and falls in loose curls, tossed to one side. I admire her the same way I did when she was dolled up in her wedding dress. She can make anything look good.
Siren.
Not saying a word, she sits next to me, brings her knees to her chest, and leans her head against the window.
“I have one request,” she finally speaks after ten minutes.
“What is that, Emelia?”
“When we do decide to have children, whatever whores you’re with need to be put on hold. And you need to be checked. I won’t be put at risk just because you can’t be a faithful husband.”
There she is, the more headstrong woman I’ve caught glimpses of. Unafraid to call me on my shit. The one that drives me up the wall with something I can’t place.
But it’s a feeling I think I like.
“I can do that.”
She looks hurt at my answer.
“What?” I question, intertwining my fingers and placing my hands in my lap.
“Nothing. Just glad we can agree.” She keeps her eyes fixated on the window.
“Tell me what you were thinking, Emelia.”
Shaking her head, she looks over at me, her eyes boring holes into mine.“I never thought I would marry a man who I not only hate, but fearandhave to share. It’s horrible, and I hate that I have to be a captive in your home, alone, knowing every night you are going to be out with other women. But if I dare talk to a man I once loved and who loved me, I am threatened.” She scoffs. “Men. Made men. You’re all the same, and you’re the downfall ofrealmen.” With that, she stands and leaves me there.
Her insult still lingers in the air.
The downfall of real men?
I debate going after her, but I’m tired of arguing with my new bride. This is her life now, and the sooner she pouts, then comes to terms with it, the better off she will be.
“Emelia, we’re here.” I stand over her sleeping form on the bed in the back room. She slowly stirs and looks around the room as she sits up. Finally, her eyes meet mine, and she rubs the sleep from them.
“What time is it?” Scooting to the end of the mattress, she stretches, and I watch her intently. I can’t fucking help but watch her, fascinated by the way she just simply exists.
“Six in the morning. I need to move fast. I have an eight a.m. meeting, and it’s an hour drive to my penthouse.”
She nods, moving without a response. I leave her to it and head to the front of the plane. If I didn’t get out of there, I would just watch her like a fucking madman, and that wouldn’t do us any good. I'm just horny, and she has all the things needed to satiate that. That's it. It has to be.
