Page 20

He takes another sip of coffee, his eyes dropping from my face to my body. It’s a brief pass, unimpressed, moving from the neckline of my oversized t-shirt down to the faded band logo.

I’m suddenly glad I’m sitting down so he can’t see the torn knee on my jeans, or the scuffed canvas sneakers. When his eyes return to mine, there’s a distinct lack of approval in them.

“Stand up,” he orders as though he heard my thoughts.

“Why?” I ask, fighting the urge to lower my eyes. I won’t make myself an easier target by hiding from him.

“Because I said so,” he states dryly, pushing back from the table.

I can’t help scoffing at that, but instead of fighting it, I do as he says. I stand from the chair and move closer to him since I already know what he wants. The second I’m within reach, Domenico catches me by the hip and pulls me between his spread knees.

My breath catches as his hand warms my skin through my t-shirt, his fingers spanning my side as though touching me like this is perfectly normal. Maybe to him it is.

It definitely isn’t to me. Not yet. Not when he keeps rejecting me.

“Turn around,” he commands, swirling his long index finger in the air as he speaks.

When my back faces him, his hand settles on my lower back. Without warning, he adds pressure until I have no choice but to bend over the table.

“What the—”

I’m interrupted by a low, angry growl coming from my husband. “What the fuck is this?” I try to look over my shoulder, but before I succeed, he kicks my feet further apart and moves them behind me so he’s using his body to pin me in place. “There’s a fucking hole right here.”

Before I can ask where, I feel his finger pushing against my flesh just below my right butt cheek.

“I didn’t know,” I immediately defend. “I swear I didn’t know, Domenico.”

He doesn’t answer, but I feel him moving. Then he barks, “Vinny? Yes. I need you to bring the phone up and get some clothes.”

Who’s Vinny? What’s going on? I hope he isn’t the red-haired guy I saw on my first night here. That man scared me.

“Yes, for Mrs. DeLuca.”

When there’s a pause, I realize he’s on the phone. And when I listen intently, I can hear a low voice that doesn’t belong to Domenico, but it’s too low for me to make out the words.

“I don’t know… something simple.”

Pause.

“Yes, make it fast.”

With that last barked command, he puts the phone down near my face. Instead of standing back up, he rests his arms on either side of me and brings his mouth to my ear.

“I’m choosing to believe you didn’t know,” he rasps, his breath fanning across the shell of my ear. “Because if you try to leave like that and show what now belongs to me, it won’t end well for you or anyone who sees.”

Fear slivers down my spine, making me shudder against him. Oh God, is this what his former wife did? Is that why he killed her? But… then why did he make me wear that wedding dress? It hid a lot less than these jeans, even with a hole in them.

Shaking my head, I whisper, “I promise I didn’t know.”

I feel his teeth close around my earlobe, and he doesn’t let up until I let out a low hiss. “Good,” he says.

When I nervously shift my weight from one foot to the other, I feel it. His hardness digging into me. It shouldn’t please me, especially not right now when he’s just threatened me. Yet it does. It means he isn’t as unaffected as I thought.

As he moves back and lets me stand, he tells me he’ll arrange for me to go shopping within the next couple of weeks. For now, though, someone named Vinny’s bringing me some clothes. I just nod as I sit back down, accepting the fact I won’t even get to decide what I’m wearing anymore.

Thoughts run rampant through my head as I try to make sense of what just happened. Domenico said I’m not a prisoner. He said I can do whatever I want. Except wear my own clothes and be comfortable in my own skin, apparently.

I look up at him, at this man who is my husband, who owns me because he paid for me, who decides when I’m wanted and when I’m dressed appropriately.