Page 22 of Bloody Vows
“To find where you putmyring, inmyhome.”
“It’s not your home yet!” My voice rises, echoing off of the marble as I follow him to the stairs, and I hate that we’re already doing this, shouting and fighting throughout the house. But I’m not going to back down. He doesn’t own me or this mansion yet, no matter what he wants to think, and he won’t for another six days.
I’m not going to let him act like he already does.
Tristan strides up the stairs with me in his wake, entirely ignoring everything I say. He looks in the bedrooms until he finds the one that is clearly mine, and walks inside without a word.
I follow him in, my cheeks flushed with anger. “Get out.”
“No.” His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in every detail—the antique furniture, the silk curtains, the decorations I’ve chosen. When his eyes land on my vanity, they narrow. "Where is it?"
“Get out of my room!” I’m an inch away from stamping my foot, but I resist the urge with monumental effort. “You’re not welcome in here.”
He turns to look at me, his eyes glinting dangerously. “In six days, I’ll be very welcome here.”
“Permitted and welcome are not the same thing.”
“They are when I’m your husband.” His jaw tightens. “Where is the ring, Simone?”
When I don’t answer, my jaw set mulishly, he turns back to my vanity, flipping open the jewelry box sitting there. It doesn’t take him long to find it, and he spins back to face me, holding the sparkling ring up between us. "This ring cost me more than most people make in five years,” he growls. “It's flawless, chosen specifically for you. And you're keeping it in a box like it's some trinket you don't care about."
I smile sweetly at him. "I don't care about it. It's just a pretty chain, dressed up to look like a gift."
Something dark flashes across his face, and I realize I've hit a nerve.Good.Maybe if I make him angry enough, he'll realize what a mistake this is and call the whole thing off. I wonder if Konstantin would still kill me, even though I saidyes. That doesn’t seem fair. If Tristan is the one who refuses to marry me, then I can’t be blamed for it.
It’s a strategy that I don’t think will work, but it’s worth trying. Even after the wedding, I can try to make him so miserable that he’ll beg me for a divorce.
He holds the ring out to me. “Put it back on.”
“No.”
His jaw works. “Put it back on, Simone.Now.”
There's something in his voice that makes heat slide through my veins, even as my mind rebels against his commanding tone. I shake my head stubbornly.
"I said no."
"And I said now." He takes a step closer to me. “Put it on, or I’ll put it on you myself.”
“Sounds like a chain to me.”
Tristan draws in a slow, even breath.
"Give me your hand."
"No."
"Give me your hand, Simone, or I'll take it."
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I can feel the tension crackling between us like electricity. This is a test, I realize. A battle of wills to see who blinks first, who gives in.
I don't want to give in. I want to fight him on this, to prove that he can't just steamroll over me whenever he feels like it. But there's something in his eyes that tells me he's not bluffing about taking what he wants. And I suddenly don’t want to know what I’ll feel if he grabs my hand and pulls me toward him.
Slowly, reluctantly, I extend my left hand.
He takes it in his, and the contact sends a shock of awareness through my entire body.So much for not wanting to feel something. His hand is large and warm, slightly rough from whatever he does when he's not playing mob prince. It makes my own hand look small and delicate by comparison.
“This ring,” he says slowly, “does not come off of your finger again. Am I understood, Simone?”
