Page 69 of Lethal Saint

He only fucked me on our wedding night to consummate the marriage, didn’t he? He hadn’t properly slept with me since; he just gave me scraps and hoped I didn’t notice.

I hesitated a moment, my stomach torn up and my heart railing against my decision, but I picked up the hair straighteners that had been delivered the day after my freak-out, and I slowly, meticulously straightened the curls out of my hair. It hung lower now it was straight, gracing my shoulders like silk.

“Good,” I said, looking in the mirror when it was done. I looked better. Not perfect but—some of the panic clutching my chest lifted.

“Alright, ladies,” I said to the twins, throwing a coat over my clothes and grabbing a Dior bag I’d found waiting for me one day, like Damien’s guilt required him to buy me gifts. No, that was unkind; he’d showered me in gifts long before he began disappearing each night. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay here; if I let you loose in a supermarket, there won’t be much left of it.”

Clearly Sparrow and Serenity didn’t understand me because they trailed me to the door. Ah, shit. I felt bad now, but it’d do me good to leave. And I had a guard for a reason.

I wrote a quick note to tell Damien I’d gone shopping and left it on the counter before I wrangled the twins away, slipping through the door with immense effort.

In the corridor outside, I panted. Escaping home without the twins was a full-body workout.

“Hi, Lionel,” I greeted my guard with a smile more optimistic than I really felt. “Just going shopping.”

I’d gotten used to him going everywhere with me, and even though it chafed that I couldn’t do anything by myself, at least Finch would never get to me with Lionel here.

Right now, I needed a distraction, needed something to keep me busy. Hence shopping. Rose would stock up the fridge tomorrow, but I liked the normalcy of it. I felt like a real person now, not just a spoiled princess—or rather a captive princess—who got everything provided for her Ivanov manor. I’d only ever existed there; nothing I’d done could be classed as living.

But going for a walk, buying groceries, bringing everything home to unpack it? It made everything that had happened since the ballroom real, not just a fever dream. The novelty would wear off eventually, but for now I loved it.

The first time, Damien came with me, but ever since I’ve used it as a distraction when he was busy, and brought my guard and my gun. I tried not to be bitter that my husband had work to do. Of course he did; he was part of a powerful family that had several dozen businesses across London.

I needed a job. When Damien found Finch, I needed a job. I couldn’t just stay home all day, restless and tormented by my own mind. I needed something to do, and hobbies and shopping were only going to go so far.

“Thank you, Lionel,” I said when he pressed the call button of the lift, standing close by my side but without sticking himself to me like a limpet. I liked Lionel; he was a man of few words, buthe was kind and he laughed at my jokes even when they weren’t funny.

“It’s raining,” he warned me when we stepped inside and the lift whooshed down through the floors, reminding me of my first trip up, my gun pressed to Damien’s chest. Whichthenreminded me of him fucking me with the barrel of my gun, and made me squirmy with arousal. But I didn’t just want his hands and mouth, didn’t want scraps of his love and passion. I wanted it all.

“It’s London,” I replied dryly, pulling up the collar of my coat. “It’s always raining.”

Lionel grunted his agreement and followed me through the lobby and out into the torrential grey loveliness of London, grabbing an umbrella from the stand beside the door and snapping it open above our heads.

“The usual shop?” he asked when I headed across the nightmarish roads around Knightsbridge and down a wide avenue full of traffic and sleek, designer stores. I loved the tacky souvenir shops that nestled between them like rebels, refusing to conform to the luxury and affluence of the area.

“The usual one,” I agreed. I’d explored a little, but I was hesitant to go further than fifteen minutes away; I liked having the security of knowing home was nearby. That Damien was nearby. No matter how frustrated I was—mentallyandsexually—he was safety and home, and I wanted to be near him always. Especially on my bad days. Like today.

I wished I hadn’t straightened my hair. It nagged at me as we weaved among both dawdling tourists and locals who shot like bullets from machine guns; like it was a matter of life and death if they reached their destination or not. One such man slammed past us, knocking his shoulder into mine so hard that my bag slipped off, and Lionel let out a deep, threatening sound like a bear’s growl.

“I’m alright,” I assured him, crouching to scoop up my bag and wiping off the dirt, horrified to find part of the piping had been scratched. This was a Dior bag, and I’d ruined it.

“I’m alright,” I repeated, the words this time for myself as we resumed our walk, Lionel closer to my side and puffed up like a gorilla now.

My heart sank as I stared at the scuff marks, my stomach in turmoil. This was a gift and I’druinedit. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back, allowing Lionel to guide us over the road via a tiny crossing. My stomach twisted as we approached the supermarket I’d found all by myself, without even having to search it on the phone Damien insisted on buying me. So we could stay in touch when he had to leave me, he said, and when I chose to leave his side.

I debated texting him now, but I’d ruined his gift and no matter how badly I needed the reassurance of hearing from him, I left my phone in my bag. He wouldn’t be angry—Damien didn’t get angry unless someone hurt me—but I didn’t want to let him down.

I jumped at a sudden rise of voices, instinct screaming that Dad was angry and I needed to freeze, to duck my head and avoid eye contact. I should have stayed at home.

“Just a couple arguing,” Lionel said, angling himself towards me.

Shit, I’d stopped dead in the middle of the pavement. At least it was quieter on this side. Over the road in front of Harrods, it was chaos.

He tipped his dark head towards me. “I reckon they’ve spent money they don’t have, and reality’s setting in. Credit card bills are the devil’s invention.”

I managed a smile, tipping my head back to look at his face. Familiar. Rough and scowling but with those kind eyes. “Thank you for coming with me, Lionel.”

“It’s my job to make sure you feel safe, Mrs. Marshall. I’m glad to do it.” He gave me a grimacing smile. “Now, what hellish place are we visiting today? The fruit and veg section? The bakery aisle?”

---