Page 1 of Crossed Up

PROLOGUE

LYLA

Thundering footsteps sound on the stairs leading from the garage to the kitchen and the dish I had been washing slips from my shaking hands into the soapy hot water. Shit. Why is he home so early? It’s not even five o’clock yet, so I don’t have dinner started or the house tidied up from where the kids were playing all day.

“Little bunny, I’m hooome!” Sebastian’s grating voice is full of faux cheer and rings out through the large kitchen, sending ice through my veins. I carefully slip off my pink rubber gloves, the material catching on the obnoxious diamond ring on my left hand. The stone is so large the thin silver band barely supports it, but I’m not allowed to take it off, even to do chores.

I’m so lost in my anxiety I don’t notice him slipping up behind me until it’s too late, my body stiffening when his lips hit the back of my neck with accuracy earned from pulling this same move every day for nearly two years. He must feel me tense up because he bites down on the side of my neck in some bullshit Alpha male bid for my submission. The bite is too hard, enough to break the skin, making me cry out.

His dark chuckle sends a terrified shiver down my spine, and I brace myself for the barrage of insults. Right on cue, his attention wanders to the living room, visible from our position in the kitchen.“Lyla,” he says calmly. “Why is the house such a disaster, bunny?”

I start to bite my fingernails, one of my nervous habits, and stutter in my haste to appease him. “I-I’m so sorry, Bas. Your sister’s kids were here a-all day and I-I haven’t had a chance to clean up after our activities yet.” Deep down beneath my terror, I feel anger simmering, and I worry one day soon it will boil over and I’ll explode.

How did I let it get this bad?

The glint in his eyes promises I’ll be spending some quality time with the first aid kit later, and the anger starts to boil as I feel myself subconsciously bracing for the hit. Rather than dole out the blow I’m expecting, he sighs a heavy breath through his nose before pasting on a sarcastic little smile that makes his unnaturally angled jaw stand out more than usual.

“Right,” he drawls. “I’m sure your day babysitting my sister’s three kids was…taxing. Meanwhile my twelve-hour day at my real job that pays for this house that you live in for free, was just so terribly easy.”

My body goes unnaturally still in response to Sebastian’s tone, knowing my chances of making it out without a trip to the hospital this time will be practically nonexistent if I give him the reaction I know he wants, so I do what I have to do to distract him. Swallowing back the bile threatening to ruin my fiancé's expensive suit as I once again play my part of the dutiful fiancée, I rearrange my expression into one I hope is more sex-kitten and less cornered possum.

“Bas,” I purr seductively, running my hands up his chest. “Why don’t I make your favorite dinner and then bring you a glass of that whiskey you like while you relax in the den.” I pout, playing up the doe-eyed subservient future wife everyone expects me to be.

The coiled tension seeps from his frame under my feigned soft affection and he nods, kissing my cheek. “You’re right. After all, I was home early and interrupted your routine. Call me when dinner’s done, yeah?” He turns to head out of the room but stops just inside the doorway, turning back to me with a critical gaze. “Oh, and Lyla?”

Anxiety rockets through my system, turning my stomach dangerously. “Yes, honey?”

His expression changes on a dime as a cruel smirk tilts the corners of his lips. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to clean yourself up first? You’re looking a little… worse for wear.”

The remark lands exactly where he aimed it, sending my insecurities spinning with just a few murmured words. Smoothing my long, vibrant auburn hair back into its haphazard bun, I watch as my future husband leaves the room, satisfied for now with only the verbal assault.

I whisper my agreement and keep my spine straight until I hear the TV in the den turn on. The second it does, I slide down the cabinets to the cold tile floor. The volume is nearly deafening as it always is when Bas is watching the stock markets, so I allow myself sixty seconds to break down, setting a timer for my moment.

Exactly one minute later, I wipe the tears from my eyes with a resigned sigh and go about doing what’s expected of me as the future Mrs. Sebastian Michael Pennington Junior.

Racing up the stairs, I rush through the fastest shower I possibly can before carefully applying makeup and styling my hair to perfection. Slipping into a tight but modest A-line dress and low heels, I hurry back into the kitchen to put dinner into the now-preheated oven.

Thirty minutes later Sebastian joins me in the formal dining room as soon as I place his full plate down at the head of the elaborately set twelve-person oak table. I track him in my peripheral vision while he inspects the house, ensuring any signs of earlier messes have been taken care of. He must be satisfied with what he finds because all he offers before he sits is a kiss on my sore, rapidly bruising neck, which I dutifully covered with a thick layer of concealer.

I wait until he’s seated and eating before following suit, elegantly lowering myself into the chair opposite him and keeping my eyes on my plate. I know better than to interrupt his mealtime with idle chatter. The last time I tried to make conversation earned me a black eye and a steak knife embedded in the wall inches above my shoulder.

The room is blessedly quiet since my fiancé seems to be occupied with his phone during his meal, and a small ember of hope starts to flicker in my chest that tonight might be a good night after all. Forks scraping against fine china plates become a soothing rhythm, settling some of the anxiety that’s become a constant thrum through my body and mind.

I should’ve known better than to trust the silence.

As soon as the last bit of food is cleared from his plate, Sebastian slams his palms down on the table, rattling the glassware and startling me enough that I drop my fork to the floor.

“What did you really do today, bunny?” He spits the word, making it sound less like a term of endearment and more like a taunt.

My jaw drops. “What do you mean?” I choke. “I watched Amelia’s kids and then did homework before starting on the dishes. You saw me washing them when you got home.”

I don’t understand why he’s confused that I was still cleaning when he arrived. Sebastian’s opulent, 5,000 square foot mansion was a college graduation gift from his father, along with the full maid service he had before I moved in.

Sebastian let them go after we got engaged, citing cleaning as one of my “wifely duties.” Between school and watching his sister’s three children four days a week, cleaning was taking up every spare minute I had.

I’d asked if he would allow me to hire the service back using my own money so I didn’t have to spend hours every day keeping the house up to his standards of cleanliness when I could be using that time to study, and it only took a few seconds to realize my error.

He flew off the handle and told me if I couldn’t handle caring for our home, I certainly couldn’t handle being a Pennington Wife. My second mistake was bringing up that his parents had an entire staff of people to take care of their house.

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