Promises and Pomegranates: A Dark Contemporary Romance (Monsters & Muses Book 1)

by Sav R. Miller

The creases at the corners of his lips deepen the more his frown curves down, and then he’s stepping into me, reaching up and fisting the back of my head, tilting my chin up so I’m forced to keep eye contact. “Don’t lie to me, little one. Don’t shut me out when I’ve not done that to you.”

  Not entirely true, I insist silently, although he has given me more than I’d ever anticipated. Maybe I should learn to be happy with what I’ve got.

  “I just didn’t realize I’d be seeing them so soon.”

  “Do you not want to? As far as I know, your sisters still live there—”

  “No, it’s okay. Really.” I flutter my lashes, eager to move on from the subject. “I think I was just hoping we’d get some alone time before.”

  “We were alone on the flight.”

  Rolling my eyes, I glance out my peripheral at the crowd around us; they mill about, paying us no attention, and we’re facing away from the windows. “I meant this kind of alone time,” I say, lowering my voice along with my hand, cupping him through the fabric of his dress pants.

  His fingers tighten, pulling at my roots, and he grunts. “Be careful what you ask for, little one. I’m liable to bend you over the stair cart and fuck you in front of the whole city.”

  The thought sends a delicious tingle racing down my back, warming in my core. “Then why don’t you?”

  Stepping even closer, so my hand is trapped between our pelvises, Kal grins wickedly. Craning his neck, he presses his lips against the shell of my ear, making me shiver. “You want them to watch while I fuck you? Show them how wrong they were about the bad doctor and his little captive? That you’re not only a willing participant in all of this, but a desperate, needy little cock whore who begs for my cum every night?”

  Do I want that? For people to bear witness when he’s inside me, claiming me, marking me as his?

  “All the men would be so fucking angry with me for getting to be with you.” His voice breaks, as if he’s losing himself to the fantasy. “And the women, too, mad that you’ve attained what none of them ever could. And all they’d be able to do is watch.”

  “Fuck,” I breathe, the word slipping out before I can stop it, my pulse jumping between my thighs. That one syllable is confirmation, though, and all he apparently needs to know.

  Groaning, he retreats, and I’m left cold and unsatisfied, choking on how much I want him. His grin widens, revealing those perfect teeth that spend so much time sinking into my flesh, and he wipes the corner of my mouth where a little drool has leaked.

  “We’ll put on a show,” he promises, squeezing the back of my neck. “Just not yet. First, we have business.”

  I nod, letting him lead me back to the security team, lost in the thoughts swirling around in my brain, coagulating to solidify just how gone I am for this villain.

  Chapter 29

  As badly as I’d love to have Elena spread wide on the back seat of this rental SUV, I figure it’s maybe not the best idea so close to seeing her parents.

  She seems to settle a bit more once we’ve survived the throng of paparazzi and news broadcasters, each anxious to be the first to sell the story of her return. They mock and call out to her, apparently unaware that it’s me at her side, her deranged captor, hidden beneath a thick scarf, knit beanie, and Ray-Bans.

  Even though we had a brief discussion on the jet about what to say if she happened to catch any of the press questions thrown her way—nothing, preferably, and “no comment” if she absolutely needed to respond—I found myself filled with an inordinate amount of anxiety as we walked out of Logan, waiting for her to snap.

  For her to turn to the cameramen and feed into the story, tell them I not only kidnapped her, but forced her to marry me and murdered her ex-fiancé.

  All true, technically, but still. For some reason, she’s the only one who doesn’t hold any of that against me.

  And it wouldn’t matter to the outside world that I murdered an abusive prick who probably would’ve tried to kill her once their marriage was final, especially after he found out she wasn’t a virgin. Nor would it matter that I was trying to protect her and extract myself from this world when I did it.

  When presented with the bones of a monster, the general public will believe the story they’re told without digging any further.

  They’re spoon-fed lies, and because they’re typically too stupid to think for themselves, no one ever questions why their soup tastes like poison.

  “Ariana says Mamá is still hell-bent on having me come home,” Elena says after a long stretch of silence, shifting in her seat.

  I glance at the bra—pink, matching those heels I’d kill to have wrapped around my waist right now—visible through the lace top of her dress, and make an unintelligible sound with my mouth, trying to downplay exactly how much I disdain her mother.

  At this point, too much has happened between us for me to ever be able to break that part of my past to her. My history with Carmen Ricci will forever live in the grave she tossed it into, and I’ll live on regretting that it ever happened in the first place.

  But like all deaths, the death of a relationship is permanent. The ending of all endings. Finality in its purest form.

  I can only hope she lets it stay that way.

  “Would you ever consider... moving to Boston?”

  My eyes find Elena’s, wide and curious as she stares at me. Rubbing my thumb over my knee, I cock my head, pretending to consider it. “Full time?”

  “Yeah, you know. Become a Bostonian. Pak ya ca in Havid Yad, and all that fun stuff.” She smiles, giggling at the exaggeration of her accent, a glimmer of something that looks an awful lot like hope shining in her gaze.

  “Do you have a problem with Aplana?”

  Her face falls, her smile freezing in place. “Not a problem, but....”

  “Then I don’t want to hear about how badly you’d like to leave,” I snap, not processing the words before they’re spewing from my lips, landing on the seat between us with a dull thud.

  Snapping my head forward, I pinch the bridge of my nose, blowing out a breath. My other hand snakes across the leather for hers, but she shrivels back, folding them in her lap. “Jesus, I knew coming back was a bad idea. Look, I’m not—”

  “No, no. I heard you, loud and clear. I won’t mention moving again.”

  When I look back over at her, I watch her push her nose higher in the air and pointedly look away.

  “Elena,” I say, my patience wearing very thin. The SUV rolls to a final stop, parking on the street in front of the Riccis’ home, the red brick dull from years of sunlight exposure. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Really? The great Kallum... something Anderson, speaking without thinking? I thought you didn’t do that.”

  I squint, smothering a laugh as she fumes, wishing it didn’t make me want to fuck her all the more. “Something?”

  Her eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t know your middle name. Because, really, I still feel like I know nothing about you. And yet, you want me to stay with you on your tiny little island and never ask questions, like some kind of slave.”

  You are the only one who knows anything about me.

  “Asher,” I say quickly, clenching and unclenching my jaw. Undoing my seat belt, I slide across to her, grabbing the buckle on hers before she has a chance to unlatch it. Trapping her between myself and the door, I lean in, running my hand up her thigh, admiring the sleek feel of her unmarked skin beneath my callouses. “My middle name is Asher.”

  “Kallum Asher Anderson,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly, like she isn’t able to consume as much oxygen as she’s putting out. She drops her gaze to my mouth, making my dick lengthen slightly.

  “My name sounds like a prayer coming from these pretty pink lips,” I murmur, razing my hand along her side, bringing my thumb up and pushing into her mouth. “One I certainly wouldn’t mind answering.”

  The tip of her tongue swirls over the pad of my thumb, eyes blazing w
ith liquid fire. Arousal stirs in my chest, spreading like ivy outward, and I’m powerless against the soft moan that falls from me.

  “I can’t stay mad at you when you look at me like that,” she says, speaking around my thumb, a furious blush creeping up her neck. “It isn’t fair.”

  “When I look at you like what?” I muse, the hand on her thigh traveling until it reaches the soft silken heat at its apex, my knuckles ghosting against her clit. No panties, even in fucking Boston.

  Carmen’s going to lose her shit.

  A shaky gasp escapes her, making her eyelashes flutter as I dip one finger in the moisture collecting on her flesh, dragging it up to draw circles on her bundle of nerves. She grips my bicep, clawing me to the point of pain, and swallows audibly.

  “Like you’re sorry.”

  The sentence sounds like an accusation, something you’d hurl at another during a heated argument as evidence of wrongdoings. But it feels like something worse.

  Something she’s aware of that I’m not.

  Our driver yanks open the back door on my side of the vehicle in the next second, and I spring forward, ensuring she’s completely covered, cursing under my breath when I hear the shocked, collective gasp of a crowd.

  My head starts to throb before I even hear her voice, violent fury rippling so abruptly through my veins that I tear myself away from Elena, afraid it might glom onto her.

  “Dio mio! Back for less than a few hours, and you’re already publicly corrupting her. Great way to prove your innocence, Kallum.”

  Elena stiffens at her mother’s use of my full name, pulling the hem of her dress down as she shoves open her door. Unbuckling from her seat, she climbs out of the car, rounding the back end, and is met by a round of cheers, whooping and hollering from what appears to be the entirety of Louisburg Square.

  Taking a moment to collect myself, I scrub my hands down my face, trying to regulate my shallow breathing. When I turn my head, Elena’s been engulfed by the crowd, disappearing from my sight within seconds.

  But Carmen stands at the door, watching me.

  Chapter 30

  “Dio mio, you must’ve put on ten pounds since you’ve been gone.”

  Mamá’s comment slices through the air of our living room, bouncing off the white walls and matching furniture, embedding itself in my skull where her criticism usually makes its home.

  Now that the neighbors and childhood friends have filtered out for the evening, having spent every second since my arrival gushing over how happy they were to see me alive and to badger me about life as a captive, despite my repeated and vehement reluctance toward the term.

  For the most part, when the shine of my return wore off and they finished asking about the island, everyone disappeared, as interested in my life as they were before I ever left Boston.

  It didn’t necessarily feel good seeing people I’d known for years become visibly bored by the truth behind my disappearance, but at least Kal looks less likely to commit mass murder now that the house is silent.

  Or, was silent.

  Mamá sweeps into the room, a long red silk robe dragging on the floor behind her, a glass of white wine in one hand. She stands beside the white stone fireplace, keeping her distance while we wait for Papá to arrive with Ariana and Stella, who’d apparently been otherwise occupied.

  “You could’ve at least tried to dress like a Ricci,” she notes, curling her lip back as she rakes over my outfit. “Instead of Kallum’s cheap flavor of the month.”

  I don’t respond, knowing she’ll eventually tire of the insults. Her game always was criticism first, pleasantries second, and it was always just a matter of waiting her out.

  Sipping slowly, Mamá keeps her dark gaze trained on Kal and I, the heat of her stare almost causing me to get to my feet and move to a different chair.

  My fingers twitch in my lap, nerves eating away at any source of comfort created by my husband’s proximity. Pleasantries would be great any time now.

  But Kal seems completely unaffected, leaning back and slinging his arm on top of the sofa. His fingers toy with the ends of my hair, setting my nerve endings on edge, my body primed and ready for more.

  Always ready for more where this man is concerned.

  Nonna staggers into the room a few minutes after we settle in, wearing a royal blue pantsuit and grumbling about getting cheated at her bridge game. She notices me, her wrinkled face splitting into a smile, and walks over, bending down to scoop my upper half into a bear hug.

  “Nipotina!” she says, warmer than she’s ever been with me. The slight hint of booze I get, mixed with stale perfume, tells me why. “The way your mother’s been pouting around here the last couple of months, I’d begun to think you died and I missed the funeral.”

  I shake out a laugh, but it doesn’t sound normal. “No, just married.”

  “Kind of the same thing, eh?” she says, slurring the words from one corner of her mouth, then slides her gaze to Kal beside me. “No offense, of course, dear. It’s just, I know men in my son’s world. Hell, my husband started the family business here. I know how taxing it can be on a marriage.”

  “Maybe don’t compare virtual strangers to the shitty men in your life.” His eyes leave hers, darting quickly across the room and back—so quick, I don’t have a chance to see what he looked at. “I can promise you, we’re quite different.”

  Mamá snorts into her wine glass.

  Nonna squints at him, hiking her purse farther up her shoulder. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.” Yawning, she pushes white bangs from her face, patting my cheek as she straightens. “I’m going to turn in before your father arrives, but I’m sure I’ll see you at the recital.”

  Nodding, I watch her head down the hall past the stairs, ambling toward the in-law suite at the back of the house.

  My skin prickles with awareness of Mamá’s perusal, and I start to move forward and push to my feet, but Kal tangles his fingers in my hair, twisting until they’re flush with the nape of my neck. I glare from the corner of my eye, pulling gently so as not to alert Mamá as to what he’s doing.

  “She’s trying to get under your skin,” he says in a low voice, only loud enough for me to hear. “Don’t let her have that power over you.”

  “She’s just staring,” I hiss back, my voice just as low.

  “Jealousy, little one. It’s not as attractive on everyone as it is on you.”

  I let out a tiny, exasperated sound. “I don’t even know what she’s jealous of.”

  His mouth parts as if to answer, but in the next second the front door is flying open, Papá and my sisters hustling inside, water dripping off their raincoats onto the dry floors.

  “Grazie a Dio, Rafael!” Mamá snaps, splashing her wine as she gestures toward the foyer. “You’re tracking mud everywhere.”

  Papá mutters something under his breath in Italian, coming into the living area looking primed for an argument. He stops dead in his tracks when he spots Kal and me on the sofa, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

  “Elena,” he says, blinking like he doesn’t really believe I’m real. “You’re here.”

  I push to my feet when I feel Kal release his grip on my hair, although the way he lets his fingers comb through the strands feels somewhat reluctant on his part. Moving to wrap my arms around Papá, I kiss his stunned, ruddy face on both cheeks, the memories of the last time I saw him disappearing the second I’m engulfed in his warm embrace.

  For a moment, I can almost forget that he risked my safety by forcing my hand in a marriage for personal gain. Twice.

  I can almost forget the fact that he overlooked years of abuse, just because he so badly wanted to maintain his power in Boston, and needed the alliance with Bollente to do so.

  I can forget all of that.

  But... I don’t.

  As I pull out of his hug, something chilly skates across my skin, a foreboding sensation that makes me a little queasy. Like I’m chasing something that doesn�
�t deserve to be caught.

  Kal gets up silently, moving in to stand directly behind me; his large palms clamp down on my shoulders, yanking me back into his front, and then he’s holding out a hand to Papá, a mask of stoicism guarding his features.

  Ariana and Stella stand under the archway connecting the living room to the foyer, as if waiting to see what happens next before launching themselves inside.

  “Rafe,” Kal says, nodding in acknowledgment, even though the gesture feels vaguely passive-aggressive.

  Papá doesn’t reach out, ignoring Kal’s offer entirely, eyes glued to me. They harden the longer the silence stretches, but then my sisters must decide it goes on for too long, because they bound into the living room, giggling and squealing, pulling me away from Kal and into their arms.

  As far as I can tell, not much has changed about them in the weeks that I’ve been gone; Ariana’s chestnut hair seems a little lighter than it once was, the freckles on her face more prominent now that it’s springtime, and Stella’s wearing the same thick-framed glasses, that familiar, bland expression forever etched onto her round face.

  “Okay, officially, we’ve gone way too long without seeing you,” Ariana says. She pushes back, grabs my biceps, and gives me a once-over. “Although, we need to talk about how you’re fucking glowing, E! You have to be getting a healthy dose of vitamin D.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows, and I roll my eyes, pushing her away. Mamá bristles, moving away from the fireplace to glare at us from a closer vantage point.

  “Ariana, honestly.” Sip, then glare. “Is that an appropriate way to talk to your sister?”

  “What, I can’t be happy that she’s getting some?”

  Papá makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Che palle, Ariana. Watch your tongue.”

  Scoffing under her breath, she turns back to me, playing with the ends of my hair.

  “They somehow got even stiffer after you left,” Stella whispers, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

  “How else would two emotionless robots accurately play the part of grieving parents?” Ariana says, just barely keeping her voice down.