“Last night was…unexpected.”
“Was it?” he asks, his tone bland.
“I’d like to discuss it. I’d like to discuss what kind of marriage this is, exactly.” I keep my voice even and calm despite my very frantic thoughts. Despite the desire and shame and confusion that have all descended on me at the same time.
“The usual kind, I suppose. Though I’ve never been married before.” His dark eyes meet mine. “I did prepare you for what it would be like between us.”
“You said you were commanding in the bedroom. That means… what? Giving orders. Following them. Maybe you’d use a flogger. I was prepared for a lot, but not that.”
His lips quirk. “You want me to use a flogger?”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not laughing, my dear wife. Though what I actually said was that I’ll keep you so sexed up, so blissed out on orgasms that you wouldn’t care that much about how commanding I get. I said you’d learn to love it, and I think I’ve been true to my word.”
True to his word? True to his word? “Last night. I don’t even know what to call it.”
“A threesome.”
A little charge of electricity runs through me. “Yes. That. You didn’t say there’d be threesomes.”
“I didn’t spell out what we’d do every night. Even I haven’t decided that far in advance. I’ll give the orders. You know that much; you just don’t know what the orders will be.”
I’m flushed with both adrenaline and arousal. This is my first fight as a married couple. Neither of us is shouting, but it’s a conflict. One that might break us up before we’ve even made it a week. We’d be slaughtered on Instagram for breaking up so fast. They would crucify me for being a capricious socialite again, but I don’t care about that. I care about the investment in Bradley Hotels. That’s what’s at stake here. “Tell me what you’ll order me to do. Describe it in detail, Francisco. That’s what I need from you.”
He steeples his hands together, considering. There is a very real chance he’ll refuse my request. And then where will that leave me? Like Alice falling through the endless blackness, down the rabbit hole of sexual eccentricity. It doesn’t help that in these seconds I notice how strong his wrists look. How capable his hands look, hands that knew just how to touch me.
Finally Francisco nods. “All right. I will do my best to describe my plans for you. For us. I want things to be plain. To be clear. The last thing I want is drama in this marriage, in my life.”
The last sentence sounds like a warning. “Good,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“I expect you to be a good society wife, to host dinner parties and galas. And because you have an interest and a talent in it, to manage my hospitality investments.”
Relief fills me. This part I can handle. “Great.”
“And in bed,” he proceeds, “I expect you to be sexually subservient.”
My breath catches. “Sexually—”
“Subservient, yes. With whatever my requests might be. I’ll never ask you to do anything dangerous, but it won’t always be comfortable. It will be pleasurable, most of the time. Unless you don’t follow my orders well enough. Then there might be corporal punishment.”
I’m failing at one of my first and most important qualities—poise. My cheeks must be on fire. I’ve definitely lost my composure if my face is going up in flames.
Hot embarrassment chokes me like a hand around my throat.
“You misled me.” My voice comes out hoarse. I meet Francisco’s eyes over the offending paper. My skin is hot enough to scorch it, but I try to keep my breathing in check. “This isn’t how the marriage was described to me. You never said anything about corporal punishment.”
“What did you think would happen if you disobeyed me?”
“I don’t know! Nothing.” I’m half up out of my chair. “I’m a grown woman.”
“Then why are you shouting and stomping your foot like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum?” Francisco’s tone makes me feel small.
“This isn’t a tantrum. It’s being upset. A grown woman is allowed to be upset.” My voice shakes. It’s not the voice I should be using in this room, with this man. It’s not the voice I expected to be using at all in this new life of mine. But the even tone I’ve practiced and cultivated and used to my advantage all my life seems as out of reach as the moon.
I’m out of my chair without realizing it, already standing. My emotions jostle one another for prominence, and I hate it. I hate the twist in my stomach and the heat in my face and the desperate sense that I don’t know where to look. I feel used and bought and afraid—and that fear makes my knees quake.
“Isabella.” The corners of Francisco’s mouth turn down.
He is still gorgeous, even when he’s frowning. The hint of disapproval in his eyes makes me feel more afraid.
And it makes me feel a twisted desire. He’s scolding me. Reminding me that my role is to sit quietly across from him. To honor and obey. Not this. It’s not supposed to be this heated.
I don’t sit down.
I can’t.
“This is too much,” I say, backing away. “I can’t do it. I didn’t agree to this. I’m out.”
I have to get away from him and everything in this room. From the gaze that sees everything I’m afraid of and the golden morning sunlight in his hair and the adorable dog. Running from this anointed king is the only way to save myself.
It’s futile. I know it as soon as I take the next breath. I won’t be the daughter who ruins things for her family. I won’t be saving myself, either. There’s no way out of this agreement.
I turn on my heel and go. If I can’t get out of this marriage, then I’ll take the next best thing—getting out of this room, where his eyes can’t follow me.
Chapter Eight
Francisco
Wolf whines, wanting to go after her, but I give him a firm no.
I give my dear wife two hours to cool off.
She’s right, of course. I should have told her the full extent of my demands in the bedroom. I should have been crystal clear about the way I would take and own and use her body.
I should have outlined, in black and white, what that would mean in practical terms. It means she is never to close her thighs to me. It means she can cry and shake and beg, but she can never walk away. It means I’ll order her lady’s maid to lick her pretty little pussy until she comes.
Why didn’t I tell her those things?
Why didn’t I sit her down, look her in the eye, and recite the list?
Probably because I knew it would scare her away. It would terrify a woman like Isabella, already so innocent and cloistered. Even her party days with champagne and dancing didn’t prepare her for me. Nothing could have prepared her for me.
There was evidence enough of that in her eyes. All that pretty shock and horrified desire. I would have liked to take her chin in my hand and watch the expressions roll over her face.
Not on the first day.
She needs this time to let her new reality settle in. Of course, she won’t leave. Not with the infusion of cash her father is probably already squandering.