Page 14 of Bound in Ruin

"I have some terms concerning the marriage," I state firmly, lifting my chin. "And we have to discuss them before I agree to marry you."

A low, dark chuckle escapes his throat, deep and infuriating. My face instantly heats up with burning embarrassment, but I refuse to shrink under his gaze.

To my surprise, he actually leans back and drops down into the leather armchair directly opposite the bed. He stretches his long legs out, resting his forearms on his knees, his dark eyes glittering with wicked amusement.

"Alright," he murmurs, his voice smooth and dangerously low. "Let’s hear your terms, sweetheart."

I unlock my phone, clear my throat, and sit up straight, focusing on the screen to hide the slight tremor in my hands.

"One: Separate bedrooms," I begin, reading each point clearly and firmly. "Two: Full autonomy over my personal schedule and movements. Three: No interference in my personal affairs or questions about my past. Four: No sex or physical intimacy in private. Five: Public affection only when absolutely necessary."

When I reach the end, I lower the phone and look up, expecting resistance, irritation, or at least a negotiation.

Instead, Dominic throws his head back and laughs—a rich, loud, booming sound that fills the entire bedroom and bounces off the walls.

I instantly glare at him, my cheeks burning hot with a mixture of fury and embarrassment. "I'm being completely serious, Dominic! There's nothing funny about this! Are my terms unreasonable?" I demand, my chest heaving as I glare at him across the space separating us.

Dominic's laughter slowly dies down to a dark, amused grin, though his eyes remain sharp as steel. "Sweetheart, we're about to get married. Of course, your terms are unreasonable. What married couple do you know has separate bedrooms and lives without intimacy?"

My heart pounds against my ribs, wild and frantic, but I force myself to hold his gaze. "We are not a normal couple, Dominic, and you know it! So, there's no need to sit there and pretend otherwise."

Another quiet chuckle escapes him, infuriatingly unbothered by my outburst.

"You're going to have to compromise on some of my terms," I insist, leaning forward slightly, tapping my phone screen with a rigid finger. "I'm part of this marriage, too. I get a say."

Dominic watches me for a long, heavy moment. The trace of amusement slowly fades from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat. He leans back against the sofa, steepling his fingers under his chin.

"Alright," he says smoothly. "Let's run it back."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pinning me with a gaze that leaves zero room for argument.

"I will not be agreeing to a separate bedroom, Rosalia," he says, his voice dropping into a hard, uncompromising register. "The sooner you come to terms with that, the better."

It takes everything in me not to cuss him out right then and there. I clench my jaw, squeeze my hands into fists against my thighs, and stay dead silent.

"Concerning full autonomy over your personal schedule and movement—sure," Dominic continues, his tone smooth and composed. "Believe it or not, I’m not interested in marrying a zombie. You have the right to do whatever you want and go where you please."

I blink, caught entirely off guard. I search his face, looking for a catch or a hidden taunt, but I see only steady, unfiltered honesty in his dark eyes. My racing heart calms just a fraction. Is he actually being serious? He looks entirely serious.

I was certain he would have the most problem with this particular item on my list. Men in our world never allow their women freedom. They lock them away in polished estates, treating them like delicate porcelain or gilded trophies. Even my own father denies me my basic freedom, dictating every move I make.

"However," Dominic speaks up, leaning in slightly, his sharp eyes holding mine captive. "When I tell you to be somewhere or need you to do something, I’m going to need you to cooperate and be understanding. Okay? You understand this world, Rosalia. You know security is paramount at all times. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I answer breathlessly, the word slipping out before I can even process the weight of it. He’s already giving me much more freedom than anyone else in my life ever has.

"Okay," he says, inclining his head subtly. "Your third term. No interference in your personal affairs or your past. What are you hiding, sweetheart?"

I swallow, pushing down the sudden lump in my throat and forcing my chin up. "Nothing. You can believe the rumors that I killed Luciano for all I care."

He chuckles, a dark, rich sound that sends a strange ripple down my spine.

"Should I take your word for it, then?” He asks. “And trust that you didn’t murder your husband in his sleep? Not like I would blame you if you did—he was a terrible bastard."

"I’d believe it if I were you," I retort smoothly, leaning in just a fraction. "And that’s exactly why you should give me a separate bedroom. You never know when I’ll turn around and stab you in your sleep."

Dominic throws his head back and laughs—a booming, full-bodied sound that echoes around the quiet master suite.

My brows furrow as I stare at him. What on earth is so funny? I know for a fact he’s heard the rumors, and the evidence stacked against me for Luciano's death is pretty damn incriminating. Anyone in his position should have at least an iota of fear or doubt about bringing me into his bed.