Page 51 of Brutal Promise

“Let’s toast to an agreeable future together.”

Our glasses touch, and I long to have her fingers wrapped around my back as I fuck her again. I can’t get enough of her. God help the man who tries to take her away from me.

“Cheers,” she murmurs, and we both sip.

She sets her glass down and gazes at the reflections of candlelight dancing off her new ring.

“I take it you like the ring?”

“Oh, it’s more than adequate.”

Adequate? What does that mean? Men like me don’t settle for adequate. We need to conquer and win at everything. My eyes narrow as I attempt to read her mood.

“I can get you whatever your heart desires.” I offer to get her what she wants. I want her showered in gems and diamonds. She’ll have everything needed to be happy in her gilded cage.

“Oh, no. The ring is gorgeous,” she replies, her voice becoming dramatic, proving to me she loves it. She fidgets with the ring as she speaks.

“Will they really take me?”

“We’ve been over this. You saw them on the street corner. Do you want more proof?”

“No, I get it. It’s just so… surreal.”

I understand she’s spent her life thinking she is less than everyone else. Little did she know, she was someone’s princess and hidden under everyone’s nose, no less. Does she know more than she’s telling me? It’s a question I ask myself every day. It’s not in my nature to trust. However, if I’m to start trusting, logically, it should begin with my wife.

“I’ve noticed you’re wearing a subtle fragrance.” I change the subject.

She lowers her head demurely. “I love lilacs because they are blue and don’t overpower my senses.”

“What else?” I inquire.

“Roses, for sure.” She chuckles. Her nervous laugh tells me she hasn’t received many bouquets. I’ll have to make sure I change that.

The oysters arrive, and Izzy gracefully places her napkin in her lap.

“Have you had these before?”

“No, I’ve seen them.”

Right, money is her obstacle, and it makes me deliriously happy that I can shower her with anything her heart desires.

I pick up a shell and slide the oyster into my mouth. She watches, then picks one up and delicately lets it slide into her mouth.

“So?”

She swallows. “Very good.”

“Well, there are more,” I encourage her, and she lifts another one to her lush lips and opens her mouth. The very mouth I’d like to fuck again.

The waiter comes by, and Izzy studies the menu before ordering a porterhouse and sides. I grin. My little bird enjoys a good meal.

The conversation is nice as she asks me about England and my family. Our food arrives, and she waits for me to lift my utensils before she cuts into her steak. We make light conversation, and she seems to be at ease with me.

Dinner is over, and she can’t finish the amount of food on her plate. I bet the chef loaded our plates, knowing I was there. Our family owns several businesses, and anything that can bring in cash to launder money is a winning proposition. Restaurants go under all the time, but we funnel money into ours. And we own this one, and many others.

I order champagne and propose a toast when it arrives.

“I’m going to be tipsy with all this alcohol,” she warns. I think my little bluebird is having a good time.

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