Page 57 of The Woman

My insides are swishing about with nerves and anticipation as we drive toward a place called the Bolstrom Club where we’re meeting Phoenix’s grandfather and a couple of other men. I know I can handle it. I’ve been faking it most of my life. But Phoenix hasn’t, and it’s the wondering how he’s going to behave that’s causing my belly to swirl.

Plus, I’m not sure whether or not I’ll be used as entertainment for the other men that will be there. I know that to keep up the ruse, it will be necessary to do whatever I have to to behave like a normal woman, even if I don’t want to. I can’t see Phoenix being happy about it with the possessive way he often acts.

He’s had me sleep next to him in his bed ever since the night we got tattooed. Every morning, I wake curled up next to him with an arm draped over me. It never ceases to cause a tingling in my chest that has me wanting to snuggle in closer.

“Make sure you do as I say exactly,” he repeats from beside me, drawing my attention.

“Yes,” I answer, even though I know this already.

“Don’t look around at anything and don’t react,” he continues. “Just don’t make eye contact.”

I turn to him, annoyed and ready to respond, but when I notice his tight grip on the steering wheel, I clamp my mouth shut. His whole body is rigid and tense. I’d say he’s nervous, but that doesn’t quite fit his personality. Anxious, maybe. Hyper-focused.

“I won’t,” I answer instead, laying my palm on his thigh.

He turns those beautiful gray eyes my way, giving a single nod before facing the road once again.

A few minutes later, we’re pulling up outside a luxurious-looking black building. A man in some kind of uniform stands by the curb, and two others are beside the door leading inside. Unfortunately, I don’t get a good look at everything before we step out, and then it’s time to behave as I should.

I do, however, notice out of the corner of my eye that the man from the curb drives off in Phoenix’s car. It is strange why Phoenix doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, though, and I wonder how we’ll be getting home. I guess we’ll worry about that later.

Phoenix wraps an arm around my waist, the warmth radiating off him, comforting me. His presence alone is a comfort, even when we’re just at home.

He had me wear one of the cute, newer dresses I picked out, which doesn’t show as much skin as the others, and then paired it with wedge sandals. The plastic coverings from our tattoos are gone, and my arms are healing nicely.

I could have cried when I saw the design he picked. It was more than just beautiful. It meant something to me. And the fact that he was willing to have me tattooed despite knowing what I am . . . well, that meant something to me as well.

The implication of what having us tattooed meant didn’t escape me, and I was quite alright with it, despite my words to him in the room.

“Carsen,” Phoenix says to the men at the door when we approach, and then we’re ushered inside.

The dim lighting in here would normally offer me more of a chance to take in my surroundings. However, the men here seem to be curious about who has just arrived and even more so about me, which means I can’t risk letting my gaze shift. So, I keep staring ahead, expressionless, as their eyes follow us.

We’re led through what appears to be the main seating area, then up some stairs and over to some armchairs surrounding a table. The area overlooks the space we just walked through below, and four men occupy some of the chairs, deep in conversation with Phoenix’s grandfather, Jeffrey Carsen.

“Ah, there he is,” Mr. Carsen announces. All eyes turn to us as we step around the filled chairs to the two vacant ones. “This is my grandson, Phoenix.” He uses a hand to indicate to each of the men. “Mark Anderson and his friend, Jonah Michaels. And you met Nate Worthorpe at the gala.”

Phoenix greets them with a dip of his chin and then sits in one of the chairs while I remain standing, waiting to be told what to do.

“So this one is yours, huh?” Mr. Michaels asks, shifting forward in his seat and looking between me and Phoenix. “My son hasn’t even been given his yet, but here you are with one you got to choose.” There’s something in his voice that doesn’t sound very friendly despite the smile on his face. “How about you let me take a closer look.”

My insides tense, but I keep the outside of my body relaxed and unaffected.

Phoenix’s hand shoots out immediately stopping me from moving forward. “I did not bring her here for your enjoyment.”

“Oh?” Jonah replies, looking unimpressed and slowly leaning back into his chair.

“Phoenix,” Mr. Carsen warns through gritted teeth.

Phoenix tugs my hand, pulling me to my knees between his legs. “I brought her for mine. I’m a little tense right now. You can have her after.”

I can’t tell if Jonah is pleased by it, but it seems to slightly appease his grandfather, and I even hear a “good” from him.

With a quick glance at me kneeling between his legs, he gives a short nod for me to begin and then turns to Mr. Anderson.

“You got the design I sent, I presume?”

“I did. I must say, I was a little apprehensive when Jeffrey told me he was having you work on this one.”

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