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“For last seven years you’ve been living in the spotlight,” he argues. “Now that we’re getting married, all the sudden you’re opposed to it.”
“Ask my parents. They know how much I hate being on camera.”
“Whatever, Violet,” he says dismissively. “Wearetelevising the wedding. End of discussion.”
“It’s not the end of the discussion.” I cross my arms over my chest. “We’re supposed to be partners.”
“Ephesians,” he quotes. “Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church. Wives should submit to their husbands in everything.”
“Did you just quote the bible to me?” I ask incredulously. “I know what the bible says. It also says, ‘Honor your wife. She is your equal partner.’”
Brad surges to his feet and towers over me. His face is almost purple with anger, and his nostrils flare. I cringe and sink further into the couch. My heart hammers in my chest, and I’m shaking like a leaf.
“Don’t cower away from me,” he screams, and saliva flies out of his mouth and hits me in the face. I’m too terrified to move to wipe it off. “I didn’t hurt you.”
I make no attempt to answer him with words, instead, nodding in agreement while he continues.
“I expect my wife to love, honor, andobey,” he says as if this is a normal conversation. “You’re going to be the wife of the new pastor of a very prestigious church. The congregation is going to expect you to be seen with me. Together we will expand our viewership and bring the word of God to more people across the U.S. I can’t do that if mywifefights me at every turn.”
He starts pacing the length of my living room while I stay frozen in my spot. This is a side of Brad I never imagined existed. I don’t want a bully for a husband, but at this point, I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid he’ll escalate if I ask him to leave, so for the time being, I think the safest thing to do is placate him.
“Okay, Brad.” My voice is barely audible. “Why don’t we eat dinner now?”
“You’ll quit fighting me on every little thing?”
“Yes.”
Brad grins and rushes toward me. He pulls me off the couch, and before I have a chance to walk around him to the kitchen, his mouth is crashing down on mine. My back stiffens, and he pulls back abruptly.
“What’s the matter with you?” he questions. “We’re getting married, and I want to kiss my fiancé.”
“I… I… I need to pull dinner out of the oven before it burns.”
It’s not a complete lie. Idohave a casserole inside the oven, and while it would be fine for another five to ten minutes, I want an excuse to get away from him. Brad raises his eyebrows in question before stomping to the kitchen. He grabs the potholders off the counter and pulls the casserole out of the oven.
“Come here, Violet,” he orders.
I hesitate for a brief moment before hastily making my way over to him. Brad picks me up and places me on the counter, so we’re eye level with one another, and he’s no longer towering over me. I squirm, holding my breath as I wait to see what he’s going to do next.
“Dinner is cooling down.” He smirks. “I’m guessing that’s what you wanted… to give it time to cool down?”
“Y-y-yes,” I stammer.
“Good because I want to kiss my fiancé.”
I force my body to relax, so I don’t anger him more than I already have. His hand snakes to the back of my neck, and he pulls my head closer to him. He forces my legs to open so he can step in between them, and I don’t fight him. I let him assault my mouth with his, the whole time my mind racing with how to get out of this engagement.
While we’re kissing, the hand he’s resting on my hip glides up under my shirt. Brad and I have had makeout sessions before, but he’s never gone under my top. I try to pull back, but he holds me still, moaning into my mouth. He squeezes my breast forcefully, causing me to yelp, but the involuntary protest doesn’t seem to faze him. Eventually, he slowly pulls back, and rests his forehead against mine, his hand still massaging my breast.
“Brad, we should stop.” I peek through my lashes, hoping he takes my suggestion as being shy.
He leans forward to whisper in my ear. “I can’t wait to fuck that virgin pussy.”
Brad’s grip tightens on my boob one more time before he slowly rakes his nails down the front of my bra until his thumb and his finger tighten around my nipple, squeezing painfully.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that blood pools in my mouth, but I refuse to cry out in pain. Sick to my stomach, I swallow the vomit that’s inching its way up my throat. He’s never spoken to me that way, and the shock on my face must show because he laughs.
“I-I-I should get dinner served before it gets too cold.”
