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"Lifesaving—” I nod. “If it succeeds, it will change the quality of his life for the better moving forward."
"That…" She locks her fingers together. "That’s incredible, thank you."
“So, there’s no reason for us to stay married anymore,” I manage to say the words without faltering. In fact, I sound positively convincing.
“And what about your role as the CEO?”
“Arthur emailed the company. He confirmed my position as CEO of the group company. There is no need for this charade to continue.”
Of course, I’m not accepting the role. I already told Arthur I’m stepping down and he should give the role to one of my nephews. But there’s no need to tell her that, yet.
The smile fades from her face, then she marches over to me and stabs a forefinger into my chest. "Pardon me for not believing this bull crap you’re spouting, but you care for me, Q. I’ve seen it in your eyes. I’ve seen it when you fuck me. I’ve seen it when you hold my gaze as you come inside of me. It's why you remember I like cappuccino and made my coffee exactly the way I enjoy it. It's why you went so far as to note the kind of painting supplies I use, and why you bought me more that matched my specifications. Besides, you all but told me that you love me. You"—she juts out her chin—"you, do love me."
"I don’t." I look her up and down, managing to infuse disdain into my perusal of her body.
From the corner of my eye, I see her raise her arm, but I don’t budge. Don’t avoid what I know is coming. And when her palm connects with my cheek, I welcome the burn. I relish the sting, knowing if I were to look in the mirror, I’d see the shape of her fingerprints on my face. I want her mark of possession on my body.
“That's for being such an ass.” She shakes the hair back from her face. “But you should know, I’m not falling for the act.”
“Eh?” I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You’re saying the words you think will push me away from you, but it’s not going to happen. I might be your submissive in bed, but in real life, I can go toe-to-toe with you. I’m not going to let you wear me down. I’m a painter. The one thing I am is patient, not to mention, persistent. Every painting has a rhythm, a code I need to understand to unlock its secrets, and I think I’m beginning to understand yours. That’s what's making you run scared.” She scans my features. “Am I right?”
A strange sensation tightens my chest. What the fuck? What is she talking about? I’ve been trying my best to make her see I’m all wrong for her, but I don’t seem to be getting through. If anything, it seems to have the opposite effect. I shake my head. “You’re wrong. But what-fucking-ever. If you want to spin stories in your head, who am I to stop you?”
I turn to leave, when she calls out to me, “Q?”
I stop.
“You think if you ignore me and put distance between us, I’m going to give up on you, but you’re wrong. You think you can push me away but I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be waiting for you to come back and apologize to me for being such a douchebag, and I’m going to enjoy every moment of it, I promise you.”
45
Vivian
"Whoa, you slapped him?” Zoey blinks rapidly. “And how did he react to that?"
“Like he always does.” I glare at the painting in front of me. “He turned and walked away. But this time I made sure I had the last word.” I say with satisfaction.
I returned home last night, on my own, then twisted and turned until I fell asleep around two a.m. Doesn’t matter what I do, I never seem to be able to stay awake later than that. And my husband hadn’t come in by then. I set an alarm and woke up at six a.m., but the bed was empty. And this time, there's no dent in the pillow.
Which means, he never came home.
I still can’t believe he said those things to me yesterday. I don’t believe he thinks our marriage isn’t real. I refuse to accept it. Not when I remember the orgasms he gave me last night, and how hot he looked jerking off—another kink uncovered, apparently.
Only good thing? The pain he inflicted on me resulted in an inability to sleep. As soon as I got up, I started painting. Angst and a broken heart are the best muse, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I didn’t pause until Zoey walked into my room at noon. I didn’t stop painting, though, not even when I narrated the incidents from last night to her—except the part about Q jerking off and how he took me after that in the shower, that is. Thinking of it sends another pulse of longing through my body. I press down on the brush in my hand with enough pressure that it cracks.
"Ugh!" I walk over to the trashcan in the corner and drop the paintbrush in it. "Maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s all well and good for me to pretend he didn’t mean what he said, but maybe he did. Maybe this was all a farce to him. Maybe everything he did was an act, as he claims?”
But no, it can’t be. Not when the intensity with which he fucked me branded my soul forever. Not when he looked into my eyes when he made love to me, and I saw his soul in his eyes. Not when he handled my body like he'd memorized exactly what I like…
I shake my head. "I could have sworn he’d fallen for me, but maybe that was me being delusional." I walk over to stand in front of my unfinished painting again. "I went into this marriage, knowing it was an arrangement, but somewhere along the way it’s turned out to be very real—for me, at least.”
"Because you’re in love with him?"
I stiffen, then scowl at her over my shoulder. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to me." She walks over and squeezes my shoulder. "How are the paintings coming along?”
