Page 6 of Coerced Wife

The man himself, Archibald fucking James II, cuts me off just as I’m about to turn into the hallway. His blond ponytail hangs down to his waist. The scruff on his jaw is supposed to resemble a beard. The curly sideburns hardly pass as that. His skinny pants end high above his ankles to announce to the world he’s trendy enough to wear his shoes without socks. Golden chest hair peels through the V of his shirt like fungus growing on a piece of molded cheese. The gray silk jacket only serves to emphasize the bulk of his gym monkey muscles. Guys like him only work out for aesthetic reasons. They don’t pump iron to fight.

“Sav,” he says, extending his arm and offering me a soft, white hand. “I hope there’s no hard feelings.”

Dante shoots me an amused look. He doesn’t intervene. Unlike Giorgio, he won’t try to stop me if I decide to snap the dandy’s neck. He merely observes me with a raised brow, curious to see if I’m going to kill the motherfucker or not.

I look at Archie’s sweaty palm. “You’re either brave, James, or very fucking stupid.”

He withdraws his hand. “I hoped we could put the unpleasantness behind us.”

Yeah, he’s brave now because if I were going to cut him to pieces, I would’ve done so already, and he knows it.

Seeing that there isn’t going to be any interesting action, Dante steps to the side to give us privacy but not so far that he’s out of earshot.

I chuckle. “There’s only two ways of doing things—the right or the wrong way.”

Archie tilts his head. “Are you saying what Rachele and I feel for each other is wrong?”

I get into his space. “How long did you fuck her while she was married?” I don’t add,to me, because I may just blow my lid and break his fingers so badly he’ll never hold a paintbrush again.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but he holds my gaze. “A year.”

I’ll give him this. I didn’t think he was going to answer.

“Yeah.” My smile is condescending. “See, James, that’s the wrong way of doing it.”

“Rachele didn’t know how to tell you. She was scared.”

I laugh at that. Rachele hasn’t been scared of me for a single day of her life. “If she’d told me the real reason why she wanted to leave, I would’ve let her go without dragging things out and making it ugly and messy.” I stab his chest with a finger. “The way you handled it is on the two of you.”

The momentum makes him stumble. “I’m not going anywhere, De Luca, so you better get used to the idea of Rachele and me.”

“I don’t care what Rachele does or who she sees.” I advance on him while he backtracks. “If you value yourpretty face and your soft hands, make sure I don’t see you again.”

Shouldering him out of the way, I continue down the hallway.

Dante falls in step next to me, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“What?” I snap.

“Anya is a nice girl, much nicer than you deserve. I hope for her sake you don’t have feelings for Rachele any longer.”

I march ahead. What I feel is anger, betrayal, and bloodlust. None of those sentiments involve romance or love.

“Stay out of my fucking business,” I say, biting off every word.

“Fine.” He quickens his stride to stay up. “It’s not my business. Just out of curiosity, would you take her back if she changed her mind?”

I consider that. Will I welcome Rachele with open arms if she crawls back tomorrow with her tail between her legs? A few months ago, I would’ve said yes. Now, everything is different. Now, there’s Anya, my treasure, and I don’t want to give her up, not for Rachele or for anyone.

I always thought Rachele was self-assured and feisty. I wrote a lot of her bitchiness off to admirable traits. Yet now that I’ve discovered the softer side of a woman, I find that I’m more attracted to the gentleness and caring side of Anya. Her compassion and generosity are more precious to me than a good surname and the face of a beauty queen.

Admittedly, it doesn’t hurt that Anya is the most exquisite being I’ve seen. If Rachele is an ice queen, Anya is a sun goddess. It’s wrong to compare them. I refuse to submit Anya to such unfair treatment. It’s just impossible not to notice the differences.

Anya brings out the protective side of me, which is something I need. I love to take care of her, not that she needs taking care of. She survived a life of violence and abuse. That makes her the strongest woman I know. Yet she somehow managed to retain the goodness inside her, something few people in her position would’ve achieved.

I’m drawn to her for all those reasons and for others I can’t explain. All I know is that there’s only Anya for me now, Anya and her baby, a baby I long since claimed as my own.

A spark of possessiveness ignites in my chest at the thought of the mother and baby. When it comes to them, my soul knows only one word.

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