by LK Shaw
“I can’t take credit for the decor. All the furnishings were picked out by Francesca.” She is also the one who picked out the artwork of bright colored flowers that is centered on the wall behind the bed. There’s a bright blue bed covering she says complements the colors of the room. A bed my wife keeps avoiding looking at.
Her attention is directed to the small vase of fresh cut blooms on the waist high chest of drawers. “The flowers are pretty.”
“You can thank Francesca for those as well. She’s the one who suggested them to the maid who comes in three times a week to clean.”
Brenna’s gaze shifts to mine before she glances away again. “That was very thoughtful of her.”
She continues standing there, not fidgeting, but with a hesitance about her. I’ve never struggled with conversation before, but for once words escape me. I stare at this woman who I’m now bound to for the rest of our lives. The woman who will bear my children. The woman who can’t even look at me. Where’s her bravery now?
“Are you going to cower like this all the time we’re in the same room together?” I bite out, suddenly angry.
Brenna’s head jerks up sharply, and her spine straightens. Her gaze narrows. “I’m not cowering.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because right now, you remind me of a scared little lamb.”
She sputters, and whatever anger I feel fades, because my wife’s eyes are full of fire. I’m almost excited to feel the burn.
“I’m neither cowed nor scared. Unless you plan on going back on your word.”
“My word?”
“If I remember correctly, I believe you promised to never lay a hand on me in anger.”
I nod. “Yes, I recall something to that affect.”
“Unless you’re a liar, then I should have no reason to fear you.”
I stalk forward until I tower over her. She swallows, but keeps her eyes locked on mine.
“What if I lay my hands on you in other ways?” I trail the tip of my finger from her shoulder down her arm, and gooseflesh pebbles across her skin. “Will you fear me then?”
Brenna tilts her chin up proudly, but there’s a flicker of panic in her eyes. “You’re my husband. I have a duty to be a good wife.”
Duty. I’ve come to hate that fucking word. “So does that mean I could slowly peel your clothing off and touch every inch of your body? Your breasts?” Without tearing my gaze away, I trace a path back up her arm, across her collar bone before brushing it over the upper swell of her soft mound. Her breath hitches in her chest and she freezes.
“What about your belly? Perhaps even lower?” My finger glides down her sternum, and I swear I can almost feel her heart beating a mile a minute. Brenna’s breaths turn shallow and her lips part the tiniest bit. There’s a hint of arousal in her gaze, but it’s not enough to surpass the fear.
With a sigh, I drop my hand and turn away.
“Take care of your things. There are plenty of hangers in your closet and half of the drawers are yours. Make yourself at home. I’ll return later tonight,” I call over my shoulder.
I jog down the stairs, my ears trained for any sound behind me. But there’s only silence. At least there aren’t tears. None I can hear anyway. I slip out the door, down the elevator, and escape onto the street below. Pierce will be pissed if he finds out I left the townhouse alone. I can’t blame him either. Even though I’ve never considered him to be so, he appointed himself my bodyguard from the moment he was initiated into the family at the age of fifteen.
Giovanni rushes around the front of the car, surprise evident on his face. I’m sure he didn’t expect me to go anywhere so soon after arriving home to my wife. Especially not on my wedding day.
You’re running again. I push Pierce’s earlier words away.
“Mr. Ricci, is everything all right?”
I wave away his concern. “Take me to Divine.”
“Yes, sir.” He quickly opens the back door and then closes me inside. He takes his place behind the wheel, and the town car dips slightly before he pulls away from the curb. It’s still early evening with enough light for me to observe the city.
Slowly, over the last two weeks, being in Brooklyn has brought with it a longing I hadn’t expected. Despite the seven years I spent in Pinegrove, it never felt like home.
I’ve been back in the city long enough for word to have reached our enemies that I’ll be taking over for my father, and that my marriage today aligned two powerful factions. According to Enzo, Mikhail Popov and the rest of the Russians are gathering their soldiers and preparing to intercept the arms shipment scheduled to arrive in two days. We need to be ready. I can’t let anything distract me. Including my new wife.
Especially her.
Chapter 10
Brenna
* * *
Five hours. That’s how long Jacob has been gone. For the first two of them, I busied myself with unpacking my meager belongings. I hung up my clothes, organized my dresser drawers, and put away all my toiletries in our shared bathroom. It kept my mind occupied and focused on something, anything, besides the remembrance of his touch.
Afterwards, I scrounged around the kitchen and found the small charcuterie board and some vegetables in the crisper that Francesca brought over. I would have killed for some ranch dressing or something to dip them in, but instead I gnawed on them raw like some rabbit.
My stomach rumbles with hunger. I couldn’t eat before the wedding; I was too nervous. And the few things I’d eaten earlier have long worn off. I need to talk to Jacob about getting groceries or even takeout as soon as he gets home, although if it gets any later it’ll be time for bed.
I’ve tried to keep my eyes from drifting to the clock, but it’s been difficult. Attempts to watch television were futile. All I did was continuously change the channel, unable to settle on anything. Even my book hasn’t kept my attention. I’ve read the same page at least fifteen times.
There are no more distractions. Nothing else stopping my thoughts from returning to what happened before Jacob left. The way he touched me. My skin still tingles where he dragged his finger across it. It doesn’t matter that he only touched the bare flesh of my arm. Every inch of my body continues to burn. I’d been afraid. I’d also been aroused. I’m not sure which emotion scares me the most. I’ve never felt this level of attraction to anyone before.
A key hits the lock and draws my eyes to the door. My pulse jumps. I’ve been waiting for Jacob’s arrival, but I’m not sure I’m ready.
It doesn’t matter if I’m prepared or not, because he steps through the open doorway. He pauses, as though he forgot I’d be here, but quickly recovers. He closes the door behind him and flips the lock before coming farther into the room. His appearance is disheveled, his suit jacket wrinkled and his tie loose.
“Did you take care of whatever business you had?” I wince at my accusatory tone.
“Yes,” he says, making his way past me and into the kitchen.
That’s it. Only a single word. Unexpected anger rises from deep inside me. My entire life I’ve felt invisible. Ignored. Sometimes by my own family, despite their love.
“Is that all you’re going to say?” I snap, rising from my spot on the sofa.
He turns and leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, his expression bland. “What else would you like me to say?”
I can’t answer, because I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing. I married a stranger. Left the only home I’ve ever known. I’ve spent almost the entirety of my short marriage alone. The anger that burned brightly only moments ago flickers before dimming and disappearing in a single second. In its place blooms sorrow. My body sags in defeat, and I give a quick shake of my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
With that, I leave my book where I set it on the arm of the sofa and trudge up the stairs. I’d left my pajamas out on the bed during my unpacking earlier. I grab them and head into the bathroom to change. I brush my teeth, avoiding my reflection i
n the mirror. With the ease of a long-born habit, I braid my hair so it’s not a tangled mess in the morning. After turning out the light, I step back into the bedroom.
My steps stutter at the sight of Jacob. He’s taken off his suit jacket and tie and is shrugging out of his dress shirt. Muscle upon muscle ripples with each move he makes. My mouth dries up at the sight. He merely casts a quick glance over his shoulder before continuing to undress. A shiver dances across my skin, and it’s not from the cold. I pull back the covers and slip into bed.
I can’t take my eyes off my husband. There’s power in his every move. With each article of clothing he removes, the more conscious I am of the throbbing in my lower belly. Soon Jacob is standing in nothing but black boxer briefs. His back is a broad, blank canvas I imagine stroking with my fingers, following the subtle lines that define every individual muscle. My gaze homes in on the two dimples at the base of his spine, and my hand twitches with the need to reach out and touch him. He turns to face me, and my eyes slam shut. He chuckles softly and turns out the light.
The darkness gives me some courage, and I open my eyes again. Until the covers are raised and cold air rushes over me. The bed dips and Jacob settles in on his side of it. The heat radiating off him warms my body. I wait for him to move closer, to start touching me again, but he remains where he is. I open my mouth to say something, though I’m not sure what. An apology maybe.
“I’m sorry I left you alone earlier. Especially on your wedding day.” His words are quiet and unexpected. “This isn’t how I wanted our marriage to begin.”
“How did you want it to begin?” I ask just as quietly.
“I don’t really know. I’ve never been in an arranged marriage before. What about you?”
“I’ve never been in an arranged marriage before either.”
Jacob lets out a short laugh, and I smile even though he can’t see me.
“Brave and a sense of humor,” he muses.
My cheeks heat at the compliment. I ignore the brave comment, because I’m not sure that’s an accurate statement, and instead focus on the last part of his sentence. My mother and Caitlín tell me I can be quite funny, even if it’s unintentional, but they’re biased. To hear the same from my husband, who doesn’t have to say nice things like that, gives me a bit of confidence that maybe there’s a sliver of truth to their words.
“I guess this is how I wanted our marriage to begin,” I finally say.
“How?”
“Talking. Getting to know each other. Although I don’t think I know any more about you now than I did before our wedding, except that your cousins call you Jacob. Is it all right if I call you that as well? Or would you rather I use Emilio?” I hold my breath waiting for his verdict.
“Jacob is fine.” His voice is gravelly and filled with a note of…approval?
Inside my belly an ember flares to life, warming me. That’s the name I prefer, since it speaks to a level of closeness. Intimacy. I like it.
“I suppose we have our whole lives to get to know each other,” I say softly. “Although, the most immediate concern I have is that I don’t know what you expect from me.”
He’s quiet for so long, I worry he fell asleep. Or maybe he just isn’t going to answer me.
“I guess what any man expects from his wife. Someone who takes care of their home and their children.”
There’s an ache in the vicinity of my heart. It’s stupid. Isn’t that what my mother does? Takes care of my father’s home and children. Why should my life be any different? Why do I keep expecting more? I try to hide my disappointment. “I’ll do my best.”
There doesn’t seem to be anything else left to say, so I turn on my side.
Away from him.
“What do you expect from me?” Jacob’s voice comes out of the dark.
I look over my shoulder, even though I can only make out the silhouette of the man lying next to me. I roll to my back. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Oddly, this conversation between us feels almost more intimate than if he started touching me again.
“You asked what I expected from you, as though that’s the only thing that matters. It’s not. What you expect from me is important as well. This marriage is forever, Brenna. I don’t plan on spending it with both of us miserable and unhappy.”
Wait, what? I lie there in shock, because I don’t know what to say. It’s as though the darkness has given us both the courage, the safety, to speak about things we wouldn’t otherwise. Or maybe that’s just me.
Jacob is nothing like I imagined. I’d expected anger. Perhaps even cruelty. Indifference. But this? Real conversation about our marriage? As though my wants are important?
No one has ever asked me what I want. I went to Columbia, instead of my choice of Barnard, for a degree I’ll never even use, because my father insisted. So much of my life has been driven by what everyone else wishes, including this marriage. And this man, a stranger—no, my husband—is asking me what it is that I want.
I draw more courage from the dark. “Respect. Honesty. Communication.” I take in a shaky breath. “I don’t expect love, but…”
Beside me Jacob’s body goes rigid. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing. “But?”
I hear the dread in his voice. The gruff wariness. Can he hear the lie in mine? Am I stupid to expect love in my marriage, especially since we’re still strangers who know nothing of one another? I have to give him something, though. “But I hope for caring. Someday, maybe.’’
A thread of nervous energy dances off my skin while I wait for a response. Have I asked for too much? Instead of giving me courage, the darkness begins to suffocate me. My chest aches. I can’t read anything off of Jacob.
At long last, there’s an exhale. I’m unsure if it’s from relief or something else. Then his voice comes from out of the dark.
“I’ll do my best.”
Chapter 11
Jacob
* * *
I wake to Brenna’s lovely body pressed up against me. Arm thrown over my chest. Leg wedged between mine. Her breath is warm against my shoulder. At first, I’m sure I’m dreaming. I open my eyes and take stock of our position. I’m still on my side of the bed. It’s she who’s made her way over.
I’d lain awake for hours last night—long after she had fallen asleep, her breathing quiet and even, with an occasional soft snore. Brenna is nothing like I imagined. Her mention of love had made me uncomfortable. But it is her hope for caring that I can’t forget. The tone of voice she’d used when she said it. As though it’s merely wishful thinking on her part.
Caring.
Such a small thing. Yet to my wife, it seems like so very much.
Sunlight filters through the tinted windows making her hair appear like burning fire. My fingers itch with the need to brush back the strands that escaped their confines during the night, but I resist. I don’t want to disturb her, though my brain is telling me to move away. To put some space between us. Her softness feels too good against me.
When was the last time I woke with a woman in my arms? Especially one I didn’t fuck?
Brenna is my wife. I have every right to her body. Yet, the day after her wedding she remains untouched. At least by me. It took everything I had not to reach across the bed and pick up where I’d left off, but then I recalled the fear in her eyes. It served as another reminder to keep my distance.
She shifts, and her leg brushes my cock. I grit my teeth and bite back the groan building in my throat. Still, it rumbles through my chest. My wife stirs again, and her breathing changes. She’s awake. I glance down. Her eyes slowly open, and our gazes lock. A pale pink dashes across her cheeks.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to distract her from the fact that my cock is hard.
“Morning.” Thankfully, she untangles herself with a mumbled apology and returns to her side of the bed. Already my body misses the feel of her against me.
“What are your plans for the day?”
Her expression is quizzical, like she’s surprised by my interest. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“What would you normally do?”
“It depends. Sometimes I help my mother in her garden. I read a lot. Hang out with my sister occasionally. I also enjoy cooking. Speaking of…you don’t have any food in the kitchen,” she says that last cautiously, as though waiting for an angry outburst.
I curse the oversight. “My apologies. I previously had a housekeeper who took care of any meals. It wasn’t something I thought about. You must be hungry.”
Brenna’s stomach grumbles in reply. Her entire face flushes again, and she slams a hand over her belly as though commanding it to stop.
“Why don’t you get dressed? While you’re getting ready, I’ll order some food and then we can talk some more.” I slide out of bed with no regard for my state of undress. The back of my neck tingles as though my wife’s eyes are following me. I grab my phone off the dresser and quickly make my way downstairs to give her some privacy.
Guilt isn’t an emotion I often feel. It ranks right up there with regret. Neither changes the past, so they’re both pretty pointless. However, I’d felt an inkling of something last night after leaving Brenna alone most of the day yesterday. Which is why I’m trying to spend a little time this morning with her. That means the gym is probably going to have to wait.
While I call Donatello’s, I put on a pot of coffee. I have no idea if my new wife drinks it, but there is rarely a day that goes by for me that doesn’t include at least two cups.
It isn’t long before she pads down the stairs. She’s taken her hair out of the braid and it falls in shiny waves around her shoulders. There’s minimal makeup on her face, which only seems to accentuate how young she is. The jeans hug her curves, and there’s a hint of cleavage showing from the neckline of the top. It’s just enough to tease what lies beneath the fabric. My cock twitches.
