Areston thinks he can shield me from his past, but what he doesn't realize is I'm already part of it.
The darkness that haunts him? It's the same one that's been chasing me for years.
I've given him everything-my body, my heart, my soul-and still...
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"Don't talk to me." I snatch my hand away and stare outside the window at the still traffic while we're on our way to work.
It's a busy morning outside. The sun is shining so bright and looks so scorching, the faces of pedestrians are glistening with sweat. I cannot imagine what this kind of sweltering heat might feel like. Seems overwhelming and not in a good way just by the looks of it.
"What did I tell you about not denying me your touch, tesoro?" My husband notes grimly.
"I won't let you touch me until you agree."
"Is that your final decision?"
"Yes." I don't even bother looking at him.
"Have it your way then."
I think he has given up but I am an idiot to think so. Areston De L'Aquila is nothing if not ruthlessly adamant and manipulative of bending everyone to his whim.
The next thing I know, he's entwining my hand in his. A cool metal touches my skin.
Gasping, I turn to notice it's one of the handcuffs that he keeps in his cabinet for purposes like this... and well, car sex essentials depending on his mood.
He binds my hand to his and shoves the key in his breast pocket.
Like a fly caught in a spider's web, I watch him with equal amounts of annoyance and amusement both as he holds our tied hand over the armrest and continues going through his email completely unbothered.
I asked him to take me to see Calliope... Althea's daughter. His adoptive sibling or cousin, depending on the context. He vehemently denied and said he wants nothing to do with Althea and her daughter.
But if he has a steely resolve then I'm his wife who'll do anything to melt it. "Don't send me flowers. Don't send me cards. Don't send me texts because I won't reply. And don't you dare call or I'll block you."
"I'll do all of that and I'd like to see you ignore," he tosses arrogantly, still not giving me his attention.
"Why can't you take me to see her?"
"Cut it out, Belle. You already know her. You've spoken to her on several occasions."
"Professional occasions," I put my coffee in the other holder and return my iPad to the Birkin so I can turn in his direction. "She's your sister and it's my birthright as your wife to be introduced to her.
"She's not my sister."
"Doesn't change the fact just because you choose to ignore it. Horace said she's sweet and you bonded very well. Didn't you, Horace?"
"That is true, your royal highness," he answers from the front passenger seat.
"Horace must have a death wish." My husband glares at him as if he'll drill a hole in the back of his head with his eyes alone.
