AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are you alright?” He looks down at me, genuine concern in his eyes, and I stare at him confusedly.
“I was sick. The—the baby.” It’s hard to say it out loud, knowing that he doubts me. That he doesn’t believe that it’s really his, that I was really a virgin, that he’s the only man I’ve been with. That he’s the only man I’ve everwantedto be with, which sometimes feels more like a curse now than anything else.
“Take a shower.” He reaches out, brushing a piece of tangled hair away from my face, and I flinch, startled at his gentleness. But I see from the way his face goes instantly cold that he’s interpreted it as something else. “I don’t want to be here all day,” he says, his voice turning flat. “So try not to make it a long one.”
When he turns away, my heart sinks. There had been a chance—a brief one—that the way things were last night might have continued into today. Longer, even. But one small gesture undid it all, and the frustration of that makes my eyes well up with tears.He can’t give me the benefit of the doubt for even a moment,I think bitterly, shoving the bathroom door closed as I walk to the shower. We’re going to head back to the mansion today, after brunch with his parents, and I’ve never wanted anything less.
David is back to being quiet on the brief flight home. Brunch was nothing but small talk with his parents; any mention of David’s possessiveness over me last night in front of their guests was ignored. His mother commented on my fur stole, telling me how lovely it was, which gave me a moment’s sly pleasure—knowing she’d be horrified if she knew where it really came from.
I know I should try to break the silence, to make some kind of conversation with my husband, but I can’t find the will to. With every minute that passes, last night feels further and further away, like some kind of fever dream that never really happened. I can feel my mood deteriorating the closer we get to the mansion, and I know David picks up on it. The air between us feels more and more tense, with anger this time instead of lust, and he doesn’t hesitate to call me out on it the moment we’re inside the house, the door firmly shut behind him.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Amalie?” he snaps, and I stare at him, pressing my lips tightly together.
“I don’t want to have this conversation.” I turn away, feeling him grab my wrist as I do, but I manage to shake him off as I make a beeline for the stairs. I can feel the oppressiveness of the house closing in around me, the isolation, the feeling that everything I say and do here is somehow wrong. That no matter what I do, there’s no way out of this place.
“You can’t just walk away from me!” His voice rises, and I hear him following me. My pulse spikes, beating hard in my throat as I scurry up the stairs, suddenly wanting nothing more than to put a door between him and me. I could feel him going cold ever since I flinched away from him this morning, and my chest aches. I want to stop the back and forth, to stop hating and desiring him all at once, to stop wondering when his coldness might turn into something worse.
I dart up the stairs to the bedroom, and I know he’s right behind me. I don’t dare look back—I don’t want to see the look on his face, to see if it’s anger or lust or both. I feel almost certain that itisboth. With us, one always seems to feed the other, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.
The moment I try to close the bedroom door behind me, David blocks it. He pushes his way into the room after me, closing the door hard as he stands in front of it, and I whirl to face him, glaring at him with all the anger I can muster.
“Just leave me alone!”
“No.” His voice is hard and flat. “You don’t get to just storm off in my house, Amalie. If I want to talk to you—”
“Ourhouse,” I hiss, and he starts to laugh.
“Oh, so now it’sours? But you hate it. You can’t stand this place, you spoiled little thing.” David glares at me, his expression hard. “You want nothing to do with it, until you can use it as a means to argue with me.”
“Why would anyone want to live here?” I throw my hands up, gesturing around the room. “This is one of what—three finished rooms in this entire house? There isn’t even a tub in the bathroom. Anyone would be embarrassed to live here—”
I see David’s jaw tighten, that muscle twitch in the way it does when he’s having difficulty controlling himself. I feel a spark of fear, my stomach twisting at the look on his face, but I’m too angry to stop, too upset at being thrust back here after a moment’s respite in Boston. “This is my family home, Amalie,” he says slowly, his words laced with anger. “You should have more respect—”
“Then they shouldn’t have left it, if it matters so much!” I shout the words, flinging at them as if they could hurt, and in the moment that they land, I see, suddenly, that they did.
David goes utterly silent, and I know I’ve gone too far. I feel the tension in the air snap, settling into a cold heaviness that makes me wish I could take what I said back. I don’t knowwhyit upset him so much, only that it did. I know that I’ve taken another step down the path of irrevocably damaging whatever little tenderness there might be between us.
But he’s done—and continues to do the same. The resentment I feel for that seems to outweigh anything else, every time.
“There’s another party this weekend,” he says finally. “One here in Newport, for a charitable board that I’m on. You’ll be expected to attend with me, of course. I imagine you’ll put on the same lovely show that you did last night. I was impressed with how well you played the part of a perfect mafia wife, considering the fact that deep down, this—” he waves a hand at me, “—shrewish personality is who you really are.”
I swallow hard, feeling that tight ache in my chest again.It’s not, I want to say.It’s just that somehow, I’m like this with you. Even when I don’t want to be.
“But there’s an entire week until then,” he continues, his voice still flat and emotionless. “I suggest you start volunteering, Amalie, or find something to do with your time. I can’t always cater to you and keep you entertained.”
I stare at him, feeling every word as if he’s slapped me. He thinks I’m spoiled and selfish, and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise. “Is that why you wanted me so much last night?” I ask softly, feeling as if the question burns my tongue when I ask it. “Because I played the part you wanted me to?”
There’s not so much as a flicker of emotion on his face as he steps away from the door, walking towards me. I want to flinch back, but I hold my ground, all the way until he reaches up, pressing his hand against my cheek. “You were a good girl,” he murmurs, his gaze caressing my face the way his fingers caress along my cheekbone. “You pretended so well. I thought you deserved a reward. And you kept pretending all night, didn’t you?”
I blink at him, startled. “I wasn’t pretending,” I whisper, before I can stop myself. A part of me would rather him think that Iwas, if it meant him not realizing just how much sway he really has over me, how much command he has over my desires. And another part of me can’t believe that he really thinks that—that he could have seen anything other than absolute sincerity in my desire last night, just as I saw it in him.
There must be some reason he wants to think it was pretense.I realize it in the same moment his hand slides into my hair, tugging my head back as his other hand trails down my jaw, over the length of my throat. “You’re mine, Amalie,” he murmurs. “My wife. If I say I want you here, then you will stay here. If I tell you to go somewhere with me, you will go. You willobeyme, and if it takespretendingfor you to be a good mafia wife, then that’s what you’ll do—”
I slap him before I can stop myself. My hand connects with his cheek, not quite hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to sting. I can see it in the shock on his face, feel it in the way his hand briefly loosens in my hair before grabbing it again, harder this time.
He spins me towards the bed, backing me up towards it so quickly that I nearly fall. “Is that what you want?” he growls, his hand digging into my hip. “You want it rough? You want to slap me, hurt me? Try it again, Amalie.”
I stare at him, suddenly frozen with fear. I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen him quite this angry, his eyes dark with rage, his hand pulling at my hair until I whimper with fear and discomfort.
