✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

6-Blood On The Sheets

ANNA

I gaze out of the tinted window of the luxurious limousine, it is a Bentley State Limousine, this car is armored and blast-resistant and rides on Kevlar-reinforced tires, yet still manages a top speed of 130mph, valued at £10 million, interesting but not my type. My eyes traced the towering buildings as they blurred past in a dizzying display of urban sprawl. The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air, an invisible barrier between Jake and me. Despite the urge to turn and face him, to confront the growing distance between us, I resist, choosing instead to focus my attention on the passing scenery.

Jake, ever the master of emotional evasion, has purposefully positioned himself as far away from me as possible, occupying the opposite side of the expansive back seat. An hour has elapsed since we embarked on this journey, yet not a single word has passed between us. His attention remains ensnared by the glowing screen of his smartphone, his fingers dancing across the keys with an intensity that betrays his disconnection from our shared reality.

As my mind drifts back to the church and our wedding earlier today, I sense the dull ache of my wound throbbing, a constant reminder of its presence. Despite the small number of guests, each interaction feels like maintaining a facade within a facade.

As we drove back to the castle, my supposed new home, I stared out the window, lost in thoughts about what to do next. I couldn't pretend to know how my life would unfold there. I pondered how the royal family would treat me now that the marriage had taken place. I wasn't afraid, but I was curious. If they dared to change their behavior towards me, they would see a different side of me. They just had to try. I was grappling with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. How would my life unfold within these grand walls? It was a question that loomed large in my mind, overshadowing the events of the night.

"You did not look impressed with the festivities." his voice cut through the air in the car, causing me to frown at him.

"It appears you weren't either," I replied mechanically, "although yours were undoubtedly more elaborate."

"You were the one in a rush to get married, wife," he retorted.

"Why waste time when it's a mere print signed to bind us together," I said smirking keeping my voice calm and steady. I heard humming after hearing my words before saying, "It's a fine print tho." a pregnant silence followed before he spoke again, "And you are always after fine prints to sign, No?"

"you still need my confirmation?" I said in sarcasm.

"No, but you think having a print with Terrence's brothers is a fine print?" his question pulled out of my thoughts, so the fucker was following me- Great my husband was a parasite.

"You are a terrible nuisance," I said.

"Don't you think that you are the queen of it, pretending that you know how to walk in heels but you don't?"  Fuck him, he had noticed me hurting, I was taken aback. How had he noticed? I had played my role well, but somehow, he had seen through it. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't because I didn't know how to walk in heels—I had mastered it long ago. It was the wound from that wretched encounter with Thomas.

The limo glides to a halt in front of the imposing castle, and Jake swiftly exits, moving to open my door. I beat him to it, opening it myself. Accepting his extended hand, I step out, clutching my white gown, and take a moment to survey my new home. We arrived a little earlier than expected, as they wanted us to be the first to arrive before the rest of the family. As we walk side by side, I can feel the weight of the eyes following our every move. Inside, the head maid, whose name I learned was Jane, and her husband greeted us with polite smiles. Jane's smile, I noted, seemed to be the only genuine one in the house.

"Your wing is ready, your honor," Jane informs me.

"Thank you, Jane," I reply, grateful for her kindness in this sea of pretense.

And so, like a dutiful wife, I followed my husband, the parasite, to his wing. I had calculated this beforehand; I knew their etiquette. It would be a disgrace if I did not sleep in his wing, with him. To my dismay, the Salvatore family had a tradition of marrying virgin brides and believing in something called the wedding night.

To their dismay, I didn't believe in any of that. I was no virgin, and I had no interest in the concept of a wedding night. But this man in front of me, half Salvatore, half royal, was a mystery. I didn't know what was happening inside his mind, and that uncertainty compelled me to find out.

He swung open the doors to reveal another opulent suite, grander in scale than a typical room, clearly designed with royal flair. The open bedroom boasted a creamy bed against walls of deep, dark blue. The furnishings exuded luxury, with intricate patterns and designs that spoke of wealth and prestige.

"The bathroom is just to your left," he pointed out, and indeed, the bathroom resembled yet another suite in itself. It was spacious, with gleaming fixtures and plush towels that hinted at indulgence. This was unlike the suite I had slept in; this one was clearly his. I could tell from the colors of the walls, a subtle blend of his preferences, and the two medicine ebooks neatly placed on his bedside. I had calculated every detail of this room.

Two additional doors caught my attention. One, I surmised, led to a dressing room, a space likely filled with luxurious garments fit for a royal. The other door probably opened to an office, as there was no wardrobe in sight. The overall theme was one of dark blues, which surprisingly had a calming effect, though a subtle sense of unease lingered. The room felt like a blend of elegance and mystery, much like the man who led me here.

"If you're into old traditions, don't expect me to follow, Jake Salvatore," I stated firmly, sinking into the plush beige sofa and slipping off my heels. I watched him disappear into his dressing room, and when he emerged wearing only his shirt, I continued, "What traditions do you mean?"

He looked at me quizzically as he approached. "The bedding? The sheets, do they ring a bell?" I asked, massaging my feet while trying to conceal the pain. My wound was throbbing relentlessly.

"Don't worry, there will be no blood on our sheets tonight," he reassured me, his gaze intense. He seemed almost too casual, considering the situation. His hair was tousled, no longer meticulously styled, giving him a disheveled yet intriguing appearance. His stride was slow and deliberate, like a predator on the hunt.

Allowing my gaze to roam over his form, I couldn't help but notice his long legs and broad shoulders. My eyes lingered at the top of his head, and a thought crossed my mind: he might look rather fetching with his hair in a bun. Despite his hair not being long, he could style it into a small bun—what was I even thinking?

"I'm not bound by old traditions and don't forget, I'm half Salvatore," he replied a hint of mischief in his voice. "But now that I think about it, there might be blood on my sheets tonight," he said, his voice taking on a raspier tone.

"And if I'm correct, it will be yours," I countered, a smirk playing on my lips.

"I thought you were strong enough not to get injured, Ace," he said, his gray eyes darkening with each word. How did he know? No—"

"You have blood on your wedding dress, Ace," he interrupted, his tone firm. "On your right thigh, and it's seeping out bit by bit. It looks like a stab wound. You tried to wrap it up, but it wasn't enough. If you don't get yourself up and clean your wound before it starts to smell, you'll have to be taken to the emergency department. And if I'm not mistaken, you have external bleeding that was controlled with pressure dressings, and by now, you're in severe pain in your right thigh that wasn't controlled with opiate analgesia, all while pretending to be strong," he finished, his words hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"I am strong," I said defiantly..

"Not strong enough," he retorted before walking towards the other door and closing it behind him. That fucker needed to be disciplined.