Page 25 of Vicious Vows

My head is pounding, throbbing with a hangover after staying up until nearly four a.m. unable to sleep. I downed at least half of the bottle before I felt like I could rest, and even then my rest was fitful, fueled by anger and outrage that Micah would try to run off in the middle of the night.

I rub my eyes and wince at the light streaming into my bedroom between the curtains. The sun is up at least halfway to midday, and I’m still sleeping. I must have slept right through my alarm, but my staff know that even if I’m not on time or functioning at capacity, the businesses must be run, and things must go on.

Feeling heavy and awkward, possibly still a little drunk, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. When I look at the notifications, I’m reminded of how suddenly I was awakened from sleep, only to rush downstairs and see Micah in her rebellion. She was so shocked, so angry. I feel the tender bruises on my back and shoulders from her fists pounding me as I carried her.

My chest feels tight with anger and disappointment as I look at the time. Nearly ten a.m. Breakfast must already be cold, but Ipush myself off the bed and grab my house robe. I send a text to Christopher asking him for an update, and then to Vic telling him I’d like my wife to join me for breakfast now. They know I locked her up, but they all obey her orders now too, so long as those orders don’t directly defy mine. She’s probably already had her breakfast served to her, but I don’t care if she eats with me. We have to talk.

On my way down to the kitchen, I pause near her door. I hear sniffling, and though I could open the door and have the talk with her here, I need it to be on my terms, in my space. This isn’t a marital feud. This is an act of obstinate rebellion. Anyone else would have been severely punished last night, but not her. Not after the connection we’ve shared.

“Morning, Mr. Santoro. I’ll have your breakfast in just a few minutes.” Ellen smiles politely, though it’s not her job to cook for me, and shuffles off to the kitchen as I sit down at the dining table. The room feels hollow without Micah here. She’ll be here soon if she knows what’s good for her, but after weeks of taking every meal together, sitting at this large table alone feels isolating. Lonely.

The room is cold too, as if someone turned off the heat last night, but I know it’s just my disappointment and frustration. I spent so many years dining alone, I’d gotten used to it, and now after sharing those meals with her, it feels odd, sad even. She brought a light into this home I never knew could exist, a passion for everything I do that I never thought I’d ever experience. If she really does want to just up and leave, then perhaps we don’t have what I thought we had.

The door swings open, and Ellen pushes a cart through, loaded down with two trays of food and a carafe of what I can only assume is hot coffee or juice. She silently serves me, setting thesecond plate at the place on the table where Micah has been sitting. Her smile as she works is pleasant, though I’m not one to pay much attention to the emotions of my staff. At least I never have been. Micah changed that about me by pointing those things out.

When Ellen begins her retreat, I do as Micah has always done. I thank the maid for her service. “Thank you, Ellen. I appreciate your help.”

She looks up at me, surprised, and then nods once and disappears, just as Micah enters the door on the other side. She wears the same wrinkled T-shirt and sweater. Her jeans, however, don’t look slept in. She must have taken them off when she got tired. But her eyes are sunken and dark, her hair mussed. She didn’t sleep well either.

“Sit,” I tell her, pointing at her chair, but instead of sitting, she merely stands by the door scowling at me. Her fingers tug at the hem of the sweater, then she pulls the sleeves down over her hands and crosses her arms over her chest. Her defiant nature is what sparked my curiosity with her to begin with—a woman who would openly resist me and my words meant a strong woman.

Now it only means one thing—rebellion against me. And I don’t like that.

“I said, sit,” I say again, this time louder, and she huffs a sigh but stays put.

“I wasn’t running away.” Her toe taps on the wood floor, but I can’t hear it. Her stockinged feet are quiet, barely audible in their fidgeting. “My family is worried. My best friend Will—who is very gay, by the way, so no threat to you—has gone silent. Hewon’t respond to me and he won’t respond to my family. I want to know what’s wrong with him.”

She means her words as an attack on me, perhaps an assault on my snap judgment last night. I don’t care. I’m the head of this house, and when I say to do something, people do it.

“Sit. Down. Now,” I say, punctuating each word separately.

Her obstinate look only grows firmer on her face. Her shoulders square, and I can see she’s never going to listen to me willingly. I have to remind myself that this is my wife. That right now, she could be carrying my child, my heir. As angry as she makes me, as much as I want to punish her to the furthest extent of my capability, I can’t lift a hand against her.

“You were just planning to leave? To run off in the middle of the night?” It’s hard to keep my tone even or steady. My temper is already out of control, my voice raised. I don’t know if it’s the idea that she’s defying me or the thought of what I’d have felt like waking up to her being gone.

“I planned to come back.” Her tone is cold, and she looks away, at the fireplace near the far wall. The window behind me probably makes my silhouette look menacing and dark. It’s the way my father would have been, the way I’ve been until she came into my life. Maybe that’s how I want her to see me right now, like a threat. Or maybe I want to know more, like whether she cares. Being scared of someone is good enough reason to run, or even to stay.

“By lying to me and manipulating my security system you?—”

“Will you listen to yourself!” she snaps, eyes now wild and fiery. Her hands gesture angrily as she talks. “I told you I would marry you and protect my father. I have done everything youasked. I helped you with problems that weren’t even my field of expertise. All I want is to check on my family and friends.” Her head shakes slightly, and tears well up in her eyes. “I thought you weren’t as bad of a monster as my dad told me you were. I was wrong. I thought I could love you, that we could be happy together. IknowI was wrong. You’re as sick of a bastard as I originally thought you were. I hate you.”

Micah turns and storms out the door, leaving it swinging back and forth in her wake. I watch after her, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. She is the only person alive whom I’ve allowed to speak to me like this, and even I don’t understand why I’m allowing it. That cuff on her ankle keeps her here in this house where I can watch her, but what if I don’t even need it? What if she is telling me the truth and she has no intention of leaving me?

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of the pocket of my house robe and look at the screen. It’s a notification from Christopher. His message is long. I can only read the first line, so I swipe to open my messages app.

Christopher 9:57 AM: Micah was right, sir. We had an attempted breach this morning. I watched the camera, and four men wearing casino uniforms entered the kitchen with a cart. The chef was in on it too. They went after the safe and our men stopped them. I have them in holding for you to question. It’s a good thing we fixed that camera. Who knows what they would’ve gotten.

Reading that message, I realize Micah really is trying to help me. She never had to fix the camera or even point out the glitch. And the fact that it turned into our catching the men who were attempting to rob me of my cash and gold is just another layer to this entire thing. She really has helped. So maybe she really istelling me the truth and she doesn't want to just run away from me.

Luke 9:59 AM: Call the police. Let them deal with it. I have something to handle here.

I put my phone in my pocket and leave it to my head of security to sort out. Then I eat my breakfast. I’m too angry, my heart too raw, to go after Micah and force her to talk to me. When I calm down, I’ll go to her and we’ll discuss what happened. And maybe I should check into her family and that friend of hers. An olive branch might go a long way toward mending what is broken. If not, I’m not sure how to handle her. Wife or staff, she’s not leaving this house. I’m keeping her, and besides, it’s not safe now.

19

MICAH

My body hurts, probably from being dehydrated. I’ve been here a week locked in this room again without so much as a visit from Luke, though Vic and Mark have been by several times to check on me. Ellen brings my meals and fresh towels, and I spend my time staring out the window. Turns out I can see the very end of the lane leading to the house, so I can tell when Luke leaves or comes home. I’ve angered him enough that he isn’t speaking to me.

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