“You don’t know a goddamn thing about men like me. You didn’t know Marc, either.”
“He wasn’t perfect.”
“Eva, please. He was a fucking lunatic,” he says, getting up from his chair. “That man would’ve beaten you. Hurt you.”
I shake my head. “He never touched me.”
“The moment you put on that wedding ring, you belong to him. Your daddy wouldn’t have saved you.”
My dad wouldn’t do that. “I don’t know where this is coming from, but no. You’re completely fucking wrong.”
Bastien takes my shoulders and holds me still as I try to squirm away. “Remember two months ago? You went with Marc to a restaurant, and at the bar, some guy made a pass at you?”
The man was in his sixties. Blasted out of his mind. His finger grazed my chest. I slapped his hand, and he apologized. “Yeah, so what?”
“Marc beat him to death after he dropped you home.”
The air leaves my lungs.
Bastien’s eyes harden. “Yes, Eva. Marc went back there and dragged the man outside. Had us come out and help. You should’ve seen what he looked like after we were finished.”
“I don’t want to know!”
“What if you—his wife—made a mistake? What do you think he would’ve done to you?”
Tears spring to my eyes as I imagine it, mild-mannered Marc beating that guy into the concrete. God, his fists were on ice the next day, and I accepted the lie he gave me without question.
What if Marc had turned on me? “Jesus.”
“Answer me. What would he have done?”
“I don’t know!”
“No,” he says, pity filling his gaze. “You don’t.”
Chapter Ten
Eva
My husband’s eye follows me everywhere. Wherever I go, he’s not far behind.
He apologized right after his confession and kissed my head, but it couldn’t take away the fact that my ex was a murderer and my husband an accomplice. There’s more, no doubt. I’m sure a laundry list of felonies exists for horrible things he’s done in the name of my father, who still plays this fucking game of big bad Mafia don even though he’s dying.
Can I live with this?
Bastien stands near the craps table, dressed in a tailor-made suit that makes him look like sex on legs. His laughter rings clear across the room. Bastien is apparently at ease with the monsters he warned me about. We’re at a charity ball, for God’s sake, and he can’t loosen up. Bastien searches the area until he spots me.
I smile at him. Take it easy. I’m fine.
My husband doesn’t relax. I learned that the first night I moved in. His yell woke me. He sat bolt upright in bed, his arms clammy.
Forget about it, Eva.
Stress eats at him every evening he comes home. I can see it curling his shoulders, and I have no idea why. Part of our arrangement dictates I keep my nose out of his business, but I don’t enjoy seeing him like this. We’re supposed to be partners.
He was never going to be anything but a sperm donor.
I should be ecstatic. I got what I wanted—a supportive husband who wants a family. The joy still crumbles like ash in my mouth. How can I be happy when he’s suffering? I know I’ve buried my head in the sand for too long. My soul was rattled when he confessed to the murder, and I lie awake wondering if I deserve to burn in hell for my father’s sins. Or my husband’s.
Bastien’s gravelly voice rolls in my mind. Make no mistake. I’m one of them.
I don’t want to think about it anymore.
I mingle with the other wives gathered around a blackjack table. My mind’s on the pregnancy test I took this morning. It came back negative, and I’m still swallowing the bitterness. I know it’s only been two weeks and to be pregnant this early would be a damn miracle, but it feels like a failure. Madison shows me a new photo shoot of her toddler. At this point, it’s rubbing salt in a wound.
She closes her phone, tucking it back into her Gucci clutch. “Anyway, enough about me. How’re you?”
“Everything is going great.” I hope my voice doesn’t sound forced. “He’s very sweet.”
She laughs to disguise her shock. “Really?”
“Yeah. And we’re trying for a baby.”
“Oh, honey! I’m so happy for you.” Madison grabs me with a squeal of excitement.
Talking about it is nice. “Bastien has been supportive. He knew I wanted kids.”
“Sounds like you were made for each other.”
Yeah, right. I glance in his direction. Only he’s not there anymore.
And then I feel him. His hand curving over my shoulder, his lips against my cheek. He gives me an adoring smile, looking lost in love. Bastien knows how to play the doting husband role very well.
“Mind if I steal my wife for a second?”
Madison fucking melts. “Of course not.”
Bastien links hands with me and guides us past the slot machines.
“You don’t have to pretend, you know.”
“What?” he says.
“The way you make eyes at me as though I’m the love of your life,” I spit out, cheeks burning.
“I’ll ogle my wife however I please, and everyone else can go fuck themselves. You’re my favorite person in this room,” he says.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why? I’m supposed to make it easy for you, is that it?”
“Yes.”
Bastien kisses me, soft enough that I want another. I palm his chest, addicted to the heat burning his skin. He looks at me with that fuck-me glare I recognize. If he were an asshole, I could fuck him and be done with it, but I see the pain breaking his spirit. Every day. Even now.
Goddamn it. No. The more I kiss him, the more attached I am. How many times do I have to get my heart broken before I learn my lesson?
“Can we keep this marriage about sex? Please?”
I feel like a heartless monster, but Bastien smiles. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
“Since you brought it up, I have an idea.” He pulls me from the hall. “Shit, I think there’s enough time before dinner.”
I swallow my first question. “For what?”
Laughing, he drags me past mingling guests and yanks open a door in the darkened hall, leading into an empty room. A couple chairs and tables, that’s it.
“What—”
The door shuts, closing us in the darkness. I feel my way toward Bastien, who lifts me into his arms. I grab his shoulders as he carries me.
“We should take advantage of any opportunity,” he hisses against my neck. “That was what you said.”
“We’re trying for a baby here?”
“I want to fuck you on this table, yes.”
I don’t know how the hell he walks in the dark, but he finds the rectangular desk and bends me over it. He unzips my dress.
He’s lost his mind. “Someone will see us!”
“I’ll tell them to get the fuck out.”
He navigates my body as though he’s got it memorized. Rough hands glide down my naked skin.
I go limp. “I’m sure they’ll just call security.”
He yanks my legs, my back pressed against the edge as he moves away. Suddenly his hair tickles my thighs. Heat billows over my pussy. Wetness strokes my clit.
Oh my God.
Bastien grabs and holds me apart as the blazing, liquid strokes me. Then he dives in, sucking. He flicks his tongue on my swollen clit. I grab his head, nearly yanking his hair by the roots.
My moan echoes in the room. It’s loud.
I’m swimming in pleasure, barely able to keep myself upright. The ache builds. Slow at first, then a raging fire. I want to be filled. I have to be filled.
“Bastien, please. Just fuck me.”
He takes my hands and pins them behind my back. My thighs sear with his biting mouth. Kisses lead to my pussy. They’re light, without the hunger of seconds before.
“You’r
e not supposed to toy with me like this.”
“I’ll fuck my wife how I want,” he says.
Bastien rises to his feet. He spins me and flattens his palm on my back. I bend over the desk, legs quivering as his belt slips through the loops. He pulls the zipper, the sound sending a thrill into my pussy. Then his naked thighs press into mine, and he yanks my wrists together. The leather loops around them, cutting into my skin as he tightens it. He holds it with one hand.
His cock is flat against my pussy, but Bastien nudges it home. My body takes him as it’s taken him dozens of times before, but it feels new. The sensation is familiar and still knocks the air from my chest. I roll my eyes when he anchors in, all his length buried inside me. I tremble with every quick thrust. He yanks my wrists like a leash, keeping me in position for his thrusts. He impales me over and over. I wish I could hate him.
I can’t. Not when he makes me come like this.
His hand rubs a vicious circle on my clit, pinching me shut. I ride that wave higher until I feel it crashing, and then he fucks me so hard I know I’ll be sore for days. He holds me still as his cock jumps inside me, filling me with liquid heat. My legs shudder as the orgasm rips through me. He groans with a second wave. I hear how wet I am and my cheeks grow hot in the darkness.
He pulls out, replacing his length with fingers until something hard touches my thigh. They slip away, and he shoves it through me. It’s bulky. Unyielding. Shaped like a cock. The base of is wide. He pushes it all the way.
“You’ll wear it tonight,” he says.
“Are you insane?”
“You want to make a baby, don’t you? This will keep me inside you.” He pulls me against his chest. “Plus, I like the thought of you being fucked by me while no one is the wiser.”
He finds my lips in the darkness, kissing me long and hard.
I’ll sever every emotion I have. There’s no room for love, not when wiseguys die like flies. And he will. He’ll leave me, and I’ll hate the day I let Bastien into my heart.
The fog of sleep rolls over my body. I’m drifting through the haze, waking up slowly, and then a grunt spears through the quiet. The waters ripple violently and then settle. A second guttural sound rips into my consciousness, and I jerk awake. My eyes snap open.
What the hell is that?
It’s like someone in pain.
I rip the sheets away and pad through the bedroom. The noise comes from the garage. Still blinking back tiredness, I open the door in the kitchen leading outside.
Light pours through the open garage door, illuminating my husband’s gym. Bastien lies under the bench press, his biceps trembling as he pushes another repetition. A groan rips from his chest.
The barbell clangs against the safety pins. Somehow he senses my presence, turning his sweat-soaked face toward me.
I hesitate before walking into the gym. I’m supposed to respect the boundaries of the deal and stay out of his hair, but Bastien’s smile is welcoming. “Hey, beautiful.”
I fight against the rising tide of warmth.
“Morning. Thought I heard someone giving birth in here.” I slide behind the bench press. “Something wrong?”
Damp curls stick to Bastien’s forehead. “Hell no.” A patch of sweat darkens his white muscle shirt. He makes a dismissive sound. “Looking this good takes work.”
Bastien finishes another set, the veins bulging from his neck. The bar clangs against the pins and Bastien slides from the bench, gasping. He yanks the plates from the bar, sliding them back on the rack with ease.
Every day I learn something new about my husband. Details trickle through slowly. I could probably answer trivia about Bastien. His favorite food: roasted chicken. His preference for malty beers. The size of his shoe.
They’re empty facts that tell me nothing about him. A kilometer-wide distance stands between us. We might be married, but we’re not close.
It bothers me.
This is what you wanted.
I sweep back into the kitchen and pull bowls from the cupboards. Every other day, he makes egg frittatas mixed with vegetables and bakes them in a muffin tray, and the fridge is out of them. So I line up the ingredients on the kitchen island, chopping up bell peppers as Bastien finishes his workout.
My whisk beats the eggs when he climbs into the kitchen, his heavy feet trembling the floor. He takes my waist and looks over my shoulder. “Are those for me?”
“Yeah.” I hope he can’t see my cheeks flush. “They’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
He kisses my cheek. “Thanks.”
The warmth fades from my skin when he pulls away, heading for the shower. That’s all I get from him. Moments of warmth that are never enough.
This is what the rest of my life will be like.
My hands tremble as I pour the mixture into the muffin tray. I shove it into the oven and sit with my coffee, scrolling through my Facebook feed. Images of happy couples and their children splash through the screen. A dark cloud settles over my head and refuses to budge. Jealousy is an awful monster. I should delete this damn thing. Looking at it all the time is a form of self-torture.
The oven beeps. I yank the tray of frittatas out, dropping them onto the stove. A baked egg aroma fills the kitchen and my eyes fill with tears. I think of my father, the countless days I spent cooking and baking and never receiving any fulfillment from it.
I’m lonely.
I want to scream with the desperation of it.
Bastien walks into the kitchen in slacks and a blue button-up, his hair damp from the shower. He heads for the frittatas and pops one in his mouth. He’s in a damn hurry, and I want to ask why.
The frittatas disappear fast. He chugs down a glass of water, grabs his keys, and kisses my head without seeing the tears in my eyes.
The door slams and he’s gone.
The clock strikes eleven.
Where is he?
I stab the remote and change channels. My eyes feel like sandpaper, but I won’t crawl into bed. Anxiety eats at me. I glance at the door. I expect a key to scrape a lock, the handle to jiggle, and Bastien to step through with a feline smirk.
He doesn’t call or text when he’s coming late. That wasn’t part of our agreement, but I’m not supposed to give a damn.
Find a man. Get married. Raise a family.
Check, check, still in progress.
Life as a mob wife is simple. I keep my head down and go about my day. When he comes home covered in bruises, I swallow my questions. I shouldn’t worry as long as he gives me children. The silence between us grows with all the unsaid things. Even when we fuck he’s far away. I thought I would be happy, but I’ve never felt so alone.
Footsteps scrape the pavement outside. I toss the remote on the coffee table and run to the window. A tall figure wearing a leather jacket walks up the front steps. I stay in the foyer. Maybe I should go in the kitchen—not look so desperate. The door swings open before I can decide, and my husband walks through.
“Hey. You didn’t have to wait up.”
My voice cracks with pain. “I got worried.”
“I thought you weren’t going to do that.” He cups my face, staring at me. “What’s the matter?”
Suddenly I’m choked up. “Nothing.”
“Am I growing on you?”
I’m so relieved to see him I don’t care about his jibes. He steps into my space, eyes heavy with fatigue, but he kisses me. Soft as petals. I wrap my arms around him and blink away my tears. He pushes me against the couch, deepening the kiss. I sigh into his mouth as he peels the straps of my tank top off my shoulders.
I break from his lips. “Can we hang out? Watch TV or something?”
Surprise breaks the lust on his face, but then he kisses my forehead. “Sure.”
Right now I just want to be with him.
We sink into the couch and Bastien pulls me into his chest. I stare at the screen without seeing anything and listen to his breathing. He strokes my shoulder.
&nbs
p; “So how was your day?” I ask.
“All right.”
I frown. “What kept you?”
“This and that.”
“Okay.”
“Giving you details puts you at risk.” He frowns. “I did work for your dad. There was a lot of driving involved.”
“Can’t you tell me when you’ll be late?”
He stares. “I could. Honestly, I didn’t think you cared.”
“I don’t like waiting for you to come home.” The threat of tears crawls up my throat. “How am I supposed to know if you’re hurt?”
“Babe, one of the guys would call you. What is this?” he says with a smile. “Why are you upset?”
I slap his hand away, hard enough to wipe the smile from his face. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“Jesus. Okay.”
Great. Now I feel guilty. I launch from the couch to the bedroom. A tight ball rises in my throat. I try to swallow it. Frustrated, I grab the duvet and yank. It slides to the floor.
Bastien pulls it on the bed. I can’t stand the look he’s giving me. “You’re putting too much pressure on yourself for getting pregnant.”
God, just the thing I want to be reminded of right now. My failure to get knocked up. “That’s not it.”
I sink onto the mattress, and Bastien kneels in front of me, concern knitting his eyebrows. “Then what’s the matter?”
Everything. “We’re married and you’re still a stranger. You don’t trust me.”
He flinches. “Eva, it’s not that. The more you know, the more trouble you could get into if I ever got arrested.”
“I don’t know anything, so I assume the worst. It’s been weeks of fucking and not seeing you all day. I thought I’d be fine with it, but I’m not. I want more than this.”
He takes my hand. “You wanted distance. Remember?”
“I know, but does it have feel this bad?”
He searches my eyes. “This is hard for me, too. You think I don’t see how sad you are every day?”
I blink, confused. I didn’t think I was that transparent.
“You were supposed to be happy.”
“Maybe I’ll never be.” Tears fill my vision and spill over. “My dad—everything he is—I hate it. I just want a normal life. A-a husband I don’t have to worry about.”
Tied Down Page 10
