Foolishly Falling for You

33

Lance

The maids are looking at me oddly. Granted, so is my wife. Since I can no longer trust her to be safe without me, I have made it my duty to ensure nothing is amiss. We sit at dinner, and she gingerly brings her fork to her mouth.

"I intend to regularly inspect you myself," I say between bites of carrot pate. "Since I cannot trust doctors to be honest when left alone with you."

She scoffs. "I'm sorry?"

I smelled iron on her this morning. Blood. She must be continuing old habits. "I will make sure you leave no marks on yourself. You will report to me daily, and I will expect you to stay in my sight." I inform her.
Anita scoffs and stands, indignantly.

"Sit down," I command her calmly, eating my eggs. I'm not sure how I feel about the combination, but not enough to discuss it with the chef. I'll make a mental note.

Anita stands, and I gaze at her expectantly, glancing at the chair. She sits in it, with a huff, crossing her arms.

"This is ridiculous."

I don't respond to her claim, there is no need. For weeks I have tried being gentle, to no avail. Now I must be firm. I set my fork down, wiping the corners of my mouth before meeting her eyes once more.

"Questions?"

"Just one. Who the hell do you think you are?" She spits venomously, leaning across the table. I lean forward, our noses touching.

"I am Admiral Lance Mendoza, and I am your husband."
"Not for long."

She stands again, stalking away.

"You will find it quite impossible to divorce me without my consent," I call after her, pushing my plate away. "And I will not give it until I am certain you will live a safe, happy, and long life."

Anita freezes. I adjust the salt shaker. How does it keep getting out of place?

"Lance..." She whispers softly, turning around. "Don't do this."

I suppose this is how she convinces every medical professional I have sent to help her not to turn a blind eye to her self-harm. You would think the fear of me would overcome the pity of her, but I suppose not. I can see why. The quivering lower lips, those eyes swelling with tears, wide and entreating. It's enough to break a man down, abandon his morals, start a war. A lesser man, perhaps.

"When you are healthy I will release you from our nuptials. Until then, I will be keeping an eye on you," I stand, tapping the table. "Finish your food. You don't eat enough."

She glances at her plate. "No. I'm finished."

I nod. "Then you will eat a snack mid-day. I will have Mrs. Hellman deliver it."

Anita follows after me as I walk past her, trying to keep up with my fast pace. "I am not your child you cannot police me and tell me when to eat and force me to strip for you and show you my wounds!"

I pause and glance back at her, in silence. She shifts and pulls her sleeves down. Her hand snakes into my own, and she squeezes.

"Lance...please. You said you want to make me happy."
"I do. And I will."
"Then—"

I cup her face and kiss her cheek. She lets me, more stunned than anything I suppose. I linger since she's letting me touch her with no protest. Her skin is soft.

"I trust you have things to do. Books to read, ledgers to attend to? I have a meeting with Micheal. I will be back before tomorrow. When I arrive, I will ensure nothing is amiss."

"What if I trip and scrape my knee! Will you lock me away?" She screams as I enter my bedroom.

It's a disingenuous question. None of her wounds can be mistaken as a skinned knee. I've banished my stepmother from my home, and I expect the Castillo's know better than to approach her. I close the door behind her and give her a nod.

"I smell iron. Let me see."
"Iron?" She frowns.
I nod. "Let me see," I demand. "Undress."
Anita purses her lops. "I will not."

I stand in front of her, touching her dress. "I hate to be rude, Anita. I don't want to be difficult. But you have a habit of making marks where you can hide them." I edge her dress off her shoulders.

She smacks my hand. "I'll do it myself."

I nod, and watch her undress, fuming, her hands shaking. Fear? Arousal? Disgust? Rage? I'm not sure.

"It was an accident," She whispers, as I turn her around, her dress pooling at her hips. Fresh marks on her side. I ghost my fingers over them.

"Why?"

Anita shifts. I push her hair over her shoulder. "It helps me think is all."

I heave a sigh and turn her around. "Anita..."

She sighs, and pulls her clothes up, shielding herself. "This is humiliating."

I cup her cheek. "What distressed you? What did you need to think about?"

Anita looks away. She won't answer me. I can't fix it if she won't tell me. I narrow my eyes and put my hand on her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. She doesn't respond to softness.

"Answer me,"
She shrugs. "This and that," She says vaguely.
I nod. "I see."