Scarlett 'Arranged Marriage'

Chapter49

Every night after that, Christian and I had been together. I woke up one morning, with Christian’s arm around my waist. Without waking him, I slid off the bed and went to take a shower.

I pulled on a black bikini, and a long flowing cover up. I walked outside the house and sat on the dock.

Our house was on its own specific island, and was extremely secluded. We had our own beach right out front. The waves rushed up and licked my feet as soon as I stepped out far enough. A plank dock had been built to keep the boats away from the property.

I let my feet dangle into the water, creating ripples that disturbed the fish. I hadn’t been out here for more than fifteen minutes when Christian walked up behind me.

“How’d you find me?” I asked, without turning around. He sat down next to me.

“I know you better than you know yourself, remember?” he joked, and I flashed him a quick smile.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, focusing his attention on me.

“We leave tomorrow,” I said. “What if I’m not ready to be queen?”

“Then we push it back. The coronation wasn’t done being planned anyway. Another week will give us more planning time,” he said.

I looked at him.

“You can do that?” I asked. He laughed.

“I’m the prince. I can do almost anything,” he replied.

“So we get to stay?” I asked. He nodded, and I squealed with delight. Suddenly, a piranha bit me. I screamed out, and shook my foot hard. The fish sailed back into the water.

“What happened?” Christian asked.

“That stupid son of a bitch fish bit me!” I screamed, outraged. He laughed.

“I’m glad you find this funny, because I sure don’t!” I yelled.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous. It’s just a little funny to me that you freak out like that when I can fix it for you.”

I froze and realized that he could, indeed, heal it for me. Instantly, my outburst seemed kinda silly.

He reached down, gently took my foot in his hands and traced the bite with his fingers. The pain vanished.

“Come on, lemme make you breakfast,” he said, helping me up, then putting me on his back. I laughed as he zoomed around the house before finally setting me down on the island in the kitchen.

“So would you like sausage or bacon?” he asked, looking through the refrigerator. For some reason, this irked me.

“Can’t I have both?” I questioned and he smirked at me and replied, “Nope.”

This set me off. Immediately, I jumped off of the counter and started throwing things, anything I could get my hands on, I threw it. His mouth was in a perfect, ‘O.’

I ran over to him and hit him, repeatedly in his chest. He stared at me as if I was some strange exhibit at the zoo. That fueled the already huge flame. I wailed and hit harder, though it was making no difference. His body was as hard as steel again. And despite how hard I was hitting him, and how hard his body was, my knuckles did not bruise or even hurt. I kept hitting him until my face turned purple, and the last thing I remember was the look of shock on Christian’s face.

…….

I woke up a few minutes later on the couch, with a frightened Christian staring at me. I started to stand, but before I could get fully upright, my stomach heaved, and I spewed a black, sticky, ink out of my mouth and all over myself. Christian and I both sat there looked dumb faced. Finally, he scooped me up in his arms, and carried me up the stairs to the bathroom in our room. He set me down on the toilet seat cover, and began to run me a bath.

When I showed no signs of being able to do it myself, he began to undress me. Eventually, I caught on and began to help.

I was in the tub before either of us said a word to each other.

“What just happened?” Christian asked. I shrugged. I was perfectly calm now, and was even a little bit tired.

‘Wow, hissy fits really do wear you out,’ I thought to myself.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think this not being able to have a baby thing is slowly starting to drive you crazy. I mean, baby, you cursed at a fish, and hit me for saying you could only have sausage or bacon. You held your breath so long that you fainted, and then you woke up and puked ink! I think we need to go see a doctor. Maybe one in hell,” he said, and my head snapped up.

“And just how are we supposed to get to hell? I know I’ve done a lot of bad stuff, but-”

“Sweetheart, hell is an actual place. All the kingdoms have headquarters that are stationed down there. The palace in L.A., that’s just to legitimize the business,” he said, sitting on the floor.

“So we can actually go to hell?” I asked. He nodded, and pulled out his cell phone.

“Dominic, send the plane directly to the island. The pilot will know where to go. No, we don’t have time to go through the whole charade. Tell Martha and Jackson to enjoy their vacation. Thank you. See you in a few hours,” he said, and hung up.

“My phone doesn’t make calls. It said I was out of service,” I pouted.

“International,” he said, holding his up. “Hurry up. I’ll get you some clothes.”

On his way out, he mumbled, “I’ll bet it’s a tumor. You don’t get mood swings like that without a tumor.”

…….

We boarded the plane and came home, to my great dismay. Christian was deathly afraid that I was gonna freak out on him, so he kept a close eye on me- when he wasn’t begging the pilot to fly faster.

We got home in a record time of three hours and forty-five minutes. He led me directly to the room where I’d first met his parents. It was empty. We walked to the door behind their chairs, and Christian opened it. It was pitch dark inside.

He took my hand, and started leading me down the never ending steps. My feet felt grooves in every stair. We walked down those stairs for almost an hour when we finally reached the bottom. It was lighter down here, and I could make out some of the words carved into the stairs. One read: “I killed my children because of a premonition I had. They were never in any real danger.”

I tapped Christian’s shoulder and immediately started saying a Hail Mary. I needed as much help as I could get here.

Christian turned around and looked where I was pointing.

“You know the saying, ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’?” he asked. I nodded.

“We just came down the road to hell. And there’s all the good intentions,” he said grimly, pointing to the spiraling staircase. I clung to his side after that.

He led us to a small clinic, and we signed in. All the while, I prayed. I didn’t like this. Not one bit.