Page 18 of His Collateral Wife

I bite my lip in frustration. I feel like something keeps getting lost in translation, but what?

"My men were extremely good at documenting your every move. I had them reporting to me several times a day. I wanted to know everything you were doing."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to understand why you chose to save me." A ghost of a smile twists over his lips. "I kept thinking there had to be a catch, but the more I watched you, the less I understood. They told me about the times you had to hide in order to cry without being seen, and I've never felt more murderous. But every time they told me these things, I also felt as if I was going crazy, and I found myself wondering if you've somehow realized you're being watched, and you were putting on a show. Nothing about you made sense."

Same here, I can't help thinking. Because nothing about him has made any sense, and so I've also been waiting for the penny to fall ever since he made me his wife.

"You were an enigma...and it made me angry."

He sees my eyes widen at his words, and his lips twist in another humorless smile.

"I convinced myself at first it was because I couldn't figure you out, which my pride balked at. I didn't like the idea of being hoodwinked by some island girl."

My heart shrivels a little at how he's described me. Does he still think of me that way?

"But then I got wind of your father's plans."

"What plans?"

His jaw clenches. "He wanted to marry you off to the highest bidder, and I knew then that I had to make plans of my own."

It's my first time to hear this, and even though I know my father's plans are a moot point by now, my body still shudders at the idea of being married off to someone else.

God, oh God.

Pluto tenses against me, and I quickly pull back and muster up a smile to let him know he has nothing to worry about. Dogs aren't called man's best friend for nothing, but more so for Pluto and his brothers.

I'm not sure if it's because of the violence they've been forced to witness and participate in, but I've noticed how they've become more and more attuned to the slightest change in my emotions. They know the difference between sadness and despair, and their devotion to me has only grown over the years. They'd die for me if they thought it would make me happy. I feel exactly the same way about them, and that's why...

"It's okay, boy. It's okay."

I bury my nails into the flesh of my palms, and I do it as hard as I can until a stream of endorphins rushes out to mask my pain---

"It's okay, it's okay."

But more importantly, this temporary feeling of lightheadedness is enough to deceive all the dogs into thinking that I really am okay.

My husband immediately reaches for me as I get to my feet. "Are you alright?"

Even when I'm not.

"I just need some air..."

"Of course."

He takes my hand while speaking, but as much as I want to draw comfort from the firmness of his grip---

I'm already lost in the past, my mind consumed by all the times I was forced by my father to join him and his men when they were in a mood to drink and celebrate.

I can feel my husband leading me out to the garden, but I don't see or hear what's going on around me.

It's as if I'm back on the island, and my father and his men are swapping stories about the women they've raped, and...

God, oh God.

I just knew I could've been one of those stories, too---

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