Page 49 of Coercion

No, I have to keep my mouth shut, I know that much. I have to pretend that this marriage is what he thinks it is, that I’m here simply to sweeten whatever the deal is between our two families.

But if I can make him fall in love with me then surely that will protect me from Gunnar and Levi too? That, as his wife, he will make sure nothing bad happens to me. I just wish I knew what I was doing, how to actually seduce him, what does a man like Preston even like?

In my desperation, I ask to borrow one of the maids phones, promising that I only want to look up something, but I haven’t used a modern phone in so long that the one Annabell lendsme is like something out of star wars. I stare at the large screen. There are no buttons, nothing but shiny glass. The phone Gunnar slipped into my fake things was a billy-basic compared to this.

After minutes of sheer desperation, I give in and ask for help.

Annabell smiles as she shows me what to do, how to pull up what she calls “a browser” and says I can type in anything I want into the search bar. I swear you can fry an egg on my face as I start searching how to seduce my husband.

Annabell stares over my shoulder and what she must think I don’t know, but she’s clearly satisfied that I’m not trying to break out again, and then she starts giving me tips too. Bits of advice like we’re friends and not technically employer and employee.

By the time I’m done, I feel like I’ve got a whole libraries worth of information, most of which seems to be about being confident, that confidence is sexy, confidence is what men want in a woman, but how the fuck can I be confident around a man like Preston Civello?

I can barely hold his gaze most days. He’s too handsome, too fearsome too. I feel like a pathetic excuse of a person and not nearly worthy enough of his attention.

Annabell tells me it’s all about the foundations, looking confident means feeling confident. So we spend a good few hours of her preening my hair, doing my nails, turning me from some street rat into what feels like a supermodel.

She does my hair, styles the frizz into a smooth mirror like finish that I want to continuously run my fingers through. And she helps pull out a ridiculously sexy dress from my wardrobe, one that is made from some clinging material that hugs every curve of me.

As I hear his car pull up in the drive, my stomach is a bag of butterflies, but I tell myself that I can do this, I can be confident, I can be sexy – I have to be. I have to make him fall in love withme, to want me - my very life depends upon him seeing me as his wife in every single way.

The door opens, he stalks in, tosses his impeccable suit jacket to the waiting man and then his eyes fall on me as I stand at the top of the stairs.

I want to smile, to laugh at the shocked look on his face, and it takes everything I have to remain composed as I slowly make my way down to him.

“How was your day?” I ask quietly, trying to master my fear.

He scans my face, tilting his head, before running his eyes down the entire length of me. It feels like the air heats, it feels like the entire room is holding its breath, waiting for what this man will do.

“Where did you get that dress?” He says, ignoring my question entirely.

I glance down, seeing the way my breasts are heaving, I’m not exactly small chested but this dress cuts low enough to emphasise that point to the max.

“You bought it for me.” I reply. “Don’t you like it?”

He blinks, staring again and I wonder if I’ve somehow rendered him speechless.

Preston

It’s been a long day. A shit day. Apparently, Levi’s trade routes aren’t nearly as secret as he’d led us to believe and we’ve had to deal with the repercussions of that fact, losing men, stock, tens of thousands of revenue too.

But as I walk through the door, as I toss my jacket, all thoughts of Levi, of Gunnar, of Nico too disappear from my head.

My wife is stood, clearly waiting for me, and my jaw practically hits the floor as I take in what she’s wearing.

“Ruby,” I murmur her name under my breath, feeling like it’s the only part of her I can lay claim to.

She slowly makes her way towards me, taking each step almost gingerly in those ridiculous heels. I swear I’m about to go full caveman just watching the way her hips sway, the way she holds my gaze like she’s about to strip right here and beg me to fuck her.

“Where did you get that dress?” I manage to get out, trying to focus on the present, trying to force my blood-flow to retreat, to turn around, to go back to my brain and not to the almost ever present hard-on I have around her.

She glances down, a momentary flicker of uncertainty covers her features, and I’ll admit, that in itself makes her even more beautiful.

I see her lips move but whatever words she says make no sense above the pounding in my chest. I take a step forward, then another, closing the distance like I’m an assassin going in for the kill.

“Don’t you like it?” She asks, clearly seeing the look in my eyes.

Like it? Fucking hell, I can’t even formulate words in response to that.

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