Page 49 of Something Borrowed

The scorching desert sun is backing down on me and I squish my eyes closed, wanting to vomit again. Maybe, for mysake, I should calm down.

“I’m going to untie your hands.” He says, turning me around so that he can pull the rope off.

As soon as my hands are free I take off, running at full speed.

My feet hurt, my head hurts, I want to vomit, I’m thirsty and in pain.

So, I stop running and turn to look at him.

That asshole is leaning again the side of the car with his arms folded across his chest.

“You aren’t even trying to chase me.” I huff, shouting over the short distance I put between us.

“Where are you planning on going? You’re in a desert with no shoes in a little white dress.”

I huff louder and spin away from him, even more determined to get away now.

I walk down the road with no idea of where it leads.

Behind me I hear the car start. He drives until he is alongside me, moving forward at the same pace as my walking.

“Go away.” I snap.

“Just get in the car, my love. We can go home.”

“Home? Or home? Where is home?”

“My home. You’re my wife and you belong in my home.”

“Is that so?” I sass, walking faster.

“For fuck sakes.” He mutters, pulling the hand break up the climb out, marches over to me, drags me to the car and throws me into the passenger seat - slamming the door closed.

I sit with my arms folded across my chest and my lower lip pouted out, my face turned away from him.

Driving is better than walking though.

No one should subject themselves to a desert stroll with a headache like this.

Rufino drives us to the airport and I don’t bother fighting as he leads me onto his private jet. I’m tired. I want food. I want to sleep. I will deal with this stuff-up of a situation when I’m better.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rufino

On the jet Verity is sulky and quiet. It’s not a long flight, but I do my best to make her comfortable. I arrange for her to be served a massive burger and crispy fries. The best food for a hangover which she is suffering from. She eats in silence but enjoys it.

She is refusing to look in my direction - as defiant as ever.

I notice with amusement though that she’s still wearing the wedding ring. I half expected her to throw it at me by now with the way she is carrying on about everything. Earlier on I even caught her looking at it and turning it on her finger. That slight gesture gives me hope that she’ll relax and accept this for what it is.

She has no choice about the marriage. It’s already done.

She can fight this as much as she wants. I’m not ending our marriage.

She is my wife.

We arrive at my second mansion just outside the city. The one I use when I need some time alone, away from people and especially my brothers.

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