Page 35 of Outcast’s Vow

She wants this to be a negotiation, then I’ll give her one.

She wants me to beg? I never beg. Not for physical pleasure. I’ve never had to, and I’m not going to start now. Not even when she looked like that.

Fuck.

This confusing mix of lust and hate I have for my new wife... it’s already tearing me apart. And we haven’t been married for an hour yet.

Would her grin still be there on her pretty face when she’s beneath me, breathlessly moaning my name like a sinful confession?

Clement is waiting for me in the hallway outside the room. Sylvie is long gone by now. The only thing out here is the muffled voices wafting in from the Castaways reception at the end of the dark hallway.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask my best friend as I stand up straight, composing myself.

Clement smirks at me, his cold eyes betraying more than he lets on.

“That was quick,” he says. “Even for you.”

I shoot him a dark look.

“Don’t you fucking start.”

“New wife already giving you trouble? I’m surprised. I thought she would’ve loved being married to you against her will.”

Enough of this. Enough of her.

“Let’s go get a drink,” I say. “I’m going to need one to survive this honeymoon with an ice-cold, untouchable, firecracker princess who thinks she’s already won.”

I’m now resolved to make sure she regrets it.

15

SYLVIE

Our honeymoon has officially begun, and I still don’t know where the hell this man is taking me. Baptiste has organized the entire thing, paid for entirely by him, so that apparently gives my husband the right to keep his lips sealed.

I’ve always hated not knowing what’s next on my schedule, and somehow, he’s clocked that. If he is hell-bent on making his new wife feel powerless, then it’s working like a goddamn charm.

“You know Father offered to contribute,” I tell Baptiste as we board the private jet at the airport outside New York City.

“No one pays my way,” he bites back coolly.

“And,” I remark as I take in the aircraft, “of course you, Baptiste Tremblay, couldn’t possibly slum it in a commercial jet, could you?”

“Oh, I’ve slummed it,” he replies with a smug grin. “I just prefer the legroom on my plane.”

“Overcompensating for something, husband?”

“That’s for you to find out, wife.”

“Ha. I didn’t know I married a comedian.”

We sit opposite each other. Baptiste doesn’t say another word. He simply holds my gaze. Something about him turns the cabin smaller, the air heavier, like he’s daring me to flinch first.

It’s pure dominance radiating off him.

Fear shivers through me. But lurking beneath it all is a treacherous flicker of heat I’m trying my best to refuse to acknowledge. Why is all this kind of hot?

I’m glad I turned him down on our wedding night, even though that was, admittedly, hard for me. It would have been so easy for me to just melt for him. To simply surrender.