Page 23 of Viparious

“So romantic, I have butterflies.”

She turns on her back, being dramatic and pressing her hand on her stomach before flicking her eyes back up to me.

“Oh wait, no, they’re moths from your asshole personality, my mistake.”

Gripping her jaw, I lift her up, cupping the back of her head with my other hand. The only way to get the brat to shut her mouth is by adding my own lips to the equation and she smiles against me. I’m not going to fuck her, she needs sleep, and I give her the words she needs to stop arguing.

“You’re beautiful. You have a smart mouth and you’re more intelligent than anyone I know. You’re strong and you’re a good wife, a good person. Now, go to sleep.”

SIX

Inessa

The wooden floor in front of Vlad’s office is going to have deep grooves in it from my pacing. I heard him throwing up all night and I’ve spent a week observing him, making it all the more noticeable.

He never eats a meal, and his shoulders tense whenever he smells food. He’ll avoid looking at it and he left the kitchen when Viktor and Tali were making their chocolate lava cakes.

I want to crawl inside his head and make it better.

There’s no one else inside his office and my hand keeps hesitating on the handle. I won’t just be pushing inside his space, but I will also force myself into the depths of what he keeps hidden.Hearing him retch over cake, not even a full slice but four spoonfuls, was heartbreaking. Seeing him continuously avoid food while questioning how he’s maintaining his body is mental gymnastics that leaves me with a headache. His physique is pure muscle, he trains harder every day, and there’s only so much strain the body can take. Especially if you don’t fuel it.

Blowing out a breath like I’m readying for a fight, I weakly knock on the door. His bark telling me to enter makes me feel better and worse somehow. It softens when he sees it’s me and his icy eyes light up with humor.

“What have you done with my wife? She never knocks.”

My smile is forced, and I rush out, “Vlad, can I talk to you?”

He turns rigid, scanning me from head to toe and nods once. My feet move, but they’re too slow, and I wipe my hands on my thighs. A crease forms between his brows as I lower into the seat opposite him, and I focus on it.

“Do you have an eating disorder?”

My voice is too quiet. Hesitant and weak when I’m normally shouting back at him.It’s the only explanation I can find for his behavior. I’ve spoken to the therapists we work with at Steorra, and they’ll be able to help him. It’s not healthy for him to starve, and it’s probably the reason for his violence.

The crease deepens and I open my mouth to repeat myself, but he shakes his head, cutting me off. I don’t know if it’s an answer or an order. Rolling back from the desk, he opens one arm and speaks softly.

“Come here, meelaya.”

I round the desk at a normal pace. He curls his arm around my hips and pulls me closer to sit on his thigh. I don’t want to force him to talk about something, but there’s only so much self-destruction a person can witness idly before they become part of the problem.

I cup his cheek and fit our foreheads together, hoping he can see everything I won’t voice. He softens as I whisper, “You don’t ever eat more than a few bites, and I heard you throwing up.”

His dumbass mouth opens, and he’s an obtuse asshole.

“I’m a man.”

My voice hardens, getting pissed as I attempt to move back.

“And I’m a woman. I don’t see what that has to do with my question.”

Dickhead.

He smiles as he lifts my hand and presses his lips to the inside of my wrist, forcing me to soften. He doesn’t look away from me as he lies, “Food is for energy. I don’t need to stuff my face like Vitali.”

His need to only do things for a purpose is infuriating. Vlad will fuck me because he wants me pregnant as per the agreement. He spends time with his family because they need him. He sits in his office, hiding away from everyone because it ensures his position. There’s nothing in his life that’s only for him or for any enjoyment.

There’s more to his reasoning for avoiding eating, I can see it in his eyes, but he doesn’t tell me. So, I try to maneuver around the mental blockades he puts up.

“Do you not like certain textures or flavors? I’ll tell whoever cooks to avoid them.”

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