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“Bullshit!” She yells, shocking me, again. She keeps doing that. “Youarean onion, Mark. Just a scared one. I see you, even if you don’t want me to. I see when you talk about things you genuinely care about, when you make jokes with me under your smile, ordering me those appliances, getting that red blanket. When you kiss your mother, and when, well, when you slip and are accidentally nice to me.”
“Well, I sound like a real fucking Prince Charming. Your dream come true, a husband who is sometimes nice. I didn’t get you that blanket. I got the appliances for Tyson. Just get a clue, Eleanna! I’m using you! You’re not going to change this, to trick me into pet names and cuddling. There will be nomi tesoro, mi amor, mi querida.Never.”
“I’m not asking for—“
I move in closer around her. “Stop! Just cut the Mother Teresa bullshit and admit you’re trying to make me want this, want you. And it. won’t. work.”
“You say you don’t want me but…” She looks down at my very hard cock. But she can’t even say the words. I bet the thing scares her.
“You’re a pretty thing, Eleanna, sure. And you’re practically naked right now. I could rip those tiny strips of fabric off you with my teeth.” Her whole body shudders and she raises her chin for me without even knowing it.
It’s tempting. I could lick up that exposed neck and suck until she’s marked. I could make good on my threat and bite at her bra and pull it off. Then I’d keep biting. Shit, it’s beyond tempting.
But I’m already in too deep with her, after I told myself over and over again to cut her off, keep her out. I don’t have room for distraction.No more.
I push back a little bit. “We’re getting divorced.”
There’s a gasp.
Then she withers, deflating completely. I am both pleased and disgusted at the sight. “What?” She whispers.
“Your dreams can still come true,wifey.With someone else. In a few months, my business with your uncle will be over. I will leave this wasteland of a state and you and I can come to whatever terms you want for how and when the divorce happens. You can remarry to one of your precious mafiosos. Everyone wins.”
“Nobody wins, Mark.” She says, her voice shaky. She’s looking down now and I stop myself from comforting her in any way.
Because she’s mostly right. I huff out, “Well,youstill can.”
“Divorce? That’s what you want? Honestly?” She looks up at me, her big, gorgeous kaleidoscope green and gold eyes wet and devastated.
“Yes.” I say quickly. I mean it. I’m hanging on to my sanity by a tiny thread.
She closes her eyes slowly and nods. “Alright.”
CHAPTER 17
Eleanna
I stare at myself in the mirror. So this is what it is to fail. Miserably. Or to have one’s heart broken. Or to realize you’re a complete and total idiot.
A divorce.
My family will lose their minds.
It’s been done before, and Mark will have to make a complete and total ass of himself for this to work. He’ll need a public scandal and a personal offense to the family. It will be messy and dramatic. Which Mark will absolutely hate. But I guess he hates being married to me more.
I rub at the bags under my eyes. I haven’t slept well or been able to find much of an appetite in the two weeks since he cornered me. I haven’t changed anything, even though he ordered me to. I don’t want to. I like the house the way it is. I like the food I make and the new decor. He hasn’t said anything about my rebellion. I’ve barely seen him at all.
At least I can say I truly gave it my best. I think I have done well and, no surprise, I’ve liked taking care of him. And he’s liked it too. The first few times I caught him as he walked in the door late in the evening, he stopped, closed his eyes and inhaled.
He loves the clothes I got him. I know this because when he first discovered them, and proceeded to glare at me about going into his closet, I implied Carmen was the one who took the measurements and swapped his clothes. He let it go, pretending to accept my lie. He just cocked an eyebrow and said to tell her the shirts were too soft.
I turn on the shower and try not to remember the ice in his eyes when he said simply, “Yes.” Divorce is truly what he wants.
I wonder if he’ll miss me after I’m gone. He hasn’t sat to eat dinner with me even once, but he has devoured every meal I’ve made. I’ve heard him moan at the table more than once. One morning, he didn’t leave before dawn and surprised us all in the kitchen. He outstretched a hand to me wordlessly. I handed him one of my bacon-and-cheese-stuffed croissants and he moaned as he took a bite and rushed out the door.
I’ve also seen his arms a few more times. I shudder as I take off my robe and think of the scarring, the pain. I wish he’d talk to me about it. No wonder he’s so bitter, so shut off. The people who were supposed to love him did that? To a small boy? I can’t fathom it, even though he told me himself. He’s let me see it, seehim.
I shake my head as I step under the spray. I’m recalling a few tiny glimpses of humanity as if the man got on his knees and declared his love for me. What a pathetic, weak, moron.
