Page 14 of Coercion

He hasn’t tried to touch me either.

It feels like he’s trying to give me space, pressing his huge body as close to his door as he can possibly fit. But why would that be? What possible benefit would he gain from that? Especially when we both know what the rest of this night entails. Afterall, my body is his to do as he pleases, right?

I don’t know whether to beg, to plead, to try to appeal to his sense of mercy – as if a man such as him even knows what that is. It feels like I’m getting neckache from the way I’m hanging my head so low.

“We’re here.” He says quietly. His voice is deep. He doesn’t sound annoyed at me. He doesn’t sound like he’s angry that I’m making a scene, not behaving the way one would expect a bride in my position to be. A bride fromourkind of family.

He gets out, walks around and opens my door, holding his arm for me and, reluctantly, I let him help me out of the car. My dress is so tight it’s hard to move without assistance, and besides, I want to shore up whatever goodwill I can at this stage.

I can’t afford to offend him now.

I can’t afford to make him more angry because I know exactly what the consequences will be.

I belong to him now. He can treat me however he likes and no one will say a word otherwise. If he decides to beat me black and blue, to turn me into a human punchbag, no one will challenge him.

No, this man is now my destiny.

My fate.

And I’ve already fucked myself by losing control the way I did back at the church. I don’t doubt my husband will make me pay for that offence as soon as the doors are shut on us, after all, he’s Nico’s second in command, he’s used to be treated a certain way, used to being respected. He will hardly let it pass that his own wife has behaved in such a manner. No, he’s going to hurt me. I already know that, it’s just a case now of what I can do to limit the pain.

The entire foyer falls silent as we walk into the hotel. A few people start to applaud as if this day is one of joy. I don’t want to think about how I look. My makeup must be smeared down my face. My mascara must be everywhere. I half want to pull my veil back over my face to hide myself but I don’t; something tells me my new husband will not like that.

I cling to his arm as if I need him to help steady me, and I see his eyes dart down to take note. Does he assume I’m behaving like a dutifully submissive bride? Or is even this displeasing to him?

When we get to the suite, I just stand there. Frozen. Mute. Perhaps, if I act obedient now, he might not beat me so badly?

It feels like a fool’s hope – but that’s what I am, what I’ve always been; a fool.

The suite is so luxurious, a complete contrast to the bare room I woke up in. There’s crystal and gold covering almost every surface. The place gleams brighter than a jewellery shop. Part of me wants to feel some sort of elation that at least now I won’t fall asleep shivering from the cold, at least now I will have proper meals, and clothes, and some sort of life, but that’s all dependent on my husband’s generosity and I’ve done nothing to earn it. Nothing at all.

Preston walks about, tossing his jacket over a chair, searching the entire space like he’s looking for bombs. He pullssomething out from under a side table and my eyes bulge as I register what it is.

“That won’t be the only one.” He murmurs, meeting my gaze, only I’m quick to drop it.

It’s a bug. This room is bugged.

I cringe, realising what the implications are. My uncle didn’t just gift us this room out of the benevolence of his own heart. This is part of his plan. He wants to hear everything that happens tonight. He probably has cameras set up as well to record it.

My face flushes with more shame. Will he and Gunnar watch it together? Will they let their men watch it too? God, what must Preston think of my family, of me?

Maybe he won’t care.

Maybe he will just fuck me regardless, even put on a show to make it clear who I belong to now. My stomach churns again and it’s all I can do not to hurl up the meagre contents.

Preston comes to a stop in front of me and without thinking I look up.

He’s handsome.

That thought alarms me more than it should. Should I be grateful for that? That my family didn’t sell me to a grotesque pig? That I won’t have to fuck a repulsive old man but an attractive one? He eyes me with what could be misconstrued as concern and I bite my lip to stop the sarcastic response I so dearly would love to say but would never have the guts.

I can see the hint of wrinkles at the corner of his fierce blue eyes. I can see the tanned colour of his skin, the way his strong jawline tenses like he’s gritting his teeth just a tiny bit. His light brown, sun-kissed hair is swept back from his face but it’s long enough that you could run your fingers through it, you could yank on it too - if you had a death-wish. He must be twice my age and some. I don’t know how to feel about that, I guess there’snothingtofeel. The deed is done. He’s my husband now. I’m as good as his property.

“Would you like a drink?” He asks quietly, with that same emotionless, controlled tone of his.

I nod quickly. I’ll take anything right now, anything to ease the horror of this. Hell, if he offered to drug me, I think I’d say yes. I think I’d willingly slip into oblivion for a few hours and let him do what he wants to my body so I don’t have to face what’s about to come next.

He comes back with a glass of whiskey for both of us. I sip mine before choking on the sharpness.

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