Page 36 of Bloody Vows
But I did save her. I married her when Konstantin could have killed her.
How gratefulshouldshe be?
I let out a slow breath. "I can handle my wife," I say finally.
"Can you? Because right now, it sounds like she's handling you." My father shakes his head, glancing back toward the office where Konstantin is sitting back down behind his desk. "Get her pregnant, Tristan. Give her something to focus on besides making your life difficult. And remember—she's not your partner in this. She's your responsibility. There's a difference."
He leaves me alone on the terrace with his words echoing in my mind. The worst part is, I know he's right. Everything he said about the strategic nature of my marriage, about Simone's role as a symbol rather than a partner—it's all factually accurate.
So why does it rub me the wrong way to hear him say it?
Maybe it’s because the woman who fights me at every turn, who challenges my authority and refuses to make anything easy, has become more interesting to me than any business acquisition should be.
The rest of the meeting goes by without issue, more of the same as before. As I head back to my car to return home, my father gives me a pointed look, and I nod, assuring him without words that I’m going to handle my wife. That I’m going to make sure my marriage is peaceful, before too much time has passed.
I know he wants to go back to Boston, back to his family, back to the familiar rhythms of his role as the patriarch there. My older brother is overseeing things for the time being, a test run for the day when he’ll be the Irish King, but my father has never done well ceding the reins of power to someone else.
He won’t leave Miami until he’s sure that I have this all under control, though. Which means I need to prove that I can handle my wife, handle my business, and settle into my position as the second most powerful man in this city.
Easier said than done, by far.
11
SIMONE
Iwant to murder my husband.
It’s not a euphemism. After he stalks away from me, leaving me breathless and wrung out against my bedroom door, I fling myself back into the room and spend at least fifteen minutes pacing before I change into a pair of yoga leggings, a sports bra, and loose tank top, running through the options for spousal homicide.
A gun? Too messy, and too loud.
Poison? I have no idea where to get it, and what dose.
Smothering him with a pillow in the night? The idea has promise, but Tristan is strong, and I’d need to hit the gym a lot more to have a chance. I pull up my workout app on my phone as I head down for breakfast, looking for strength exercises. I’ve always been a runner, but that could change.
Nora is in the kitchen when I walk in, preparing breakfast. The familiar sight of her moving around the space should be comforting, but right now it just reminds me of how much everything has changed. I used to sneak in here before mealtimes to hug her and chat for a moment before retreating to the dining room, where my father expected me to eat with him.Now, I wonder if Tristan will order me to do the same, or if I can hide away in here and eat without having to look at him.
I remember Nora saying that at least my husband-to-be was young and handsome. I almost wish it were the opposite. I’d be disgusted by having to touch him, but at least I wouldn’t be fighting this inner war, where every time I look at my husband, I both hate him and can’t help but think that he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
It seems unfair that someone so gorgeous is also such an asshole.
“Good morning,mija,” Nora says without turning around, her hands busily kneading dough. The kitchen already smells like cinnamon rolls, and I see a bowl of cut-up fruit salad on the counter. I slide past her to grab a mug out of a cupboard and get my own coffee. In the days since my father died, I’ve been doing more and more of these small things on my own, things that used to be done by staff. I don’t know why, except that maybe it feels like, if I can’t run the estate myself, I can at least do these little things. A bit of agency.
“Morning.” I sink into a chair at the table by the kitchen window, where the staff typically eats. I have a feeling Tristan would pop a blood vessel if he saw me here, but I don’t care. If he orders me to eat meals with him, I’ll deal with that then, but right now I suspect that he’s only interested in making me submit to him physically.
Which he did. My face burns hot at the thought of what happened in the hallway. I thought the locked door would keep him out, put some distance between us, but it’s clear that he has no respect for my privacy or space. And then…
It felt so good.So good. I bite my lip, trying not to think about it, but it happened too recently. My body is still buzzing faintly with the sensations: with the memory of his body so close to mine, hard and hot and smelling of warm male flesh andthe lingering hints of his cologne. I can’t help but remember the lingering sensation of his fingers working expertly between my thighs, his roughly accented voice driving me wild wholly against my will.
I don’twantto want him. I don’t want any part of this. And yet, I lost control so easily. Just last night, I was promising him that I’d never allow myself to come for him, and I’ve already broken that promise.
It doesn’t have to happen again,I remind myself. The best case scenario is, now that Tristan has ‘won’, that he’ll lose interest. He’ll fuck me when necessary and ignore me otherwise, and that would be the most welcome outcome. There’s no better one; I can’t get out of this marriage. I have to find a way to live with him, and his indifference would be the easiest way to make that palatable.
“You’re thinking so loudly I can hear it,” Nora says amusedly from where she’s standing, and I blush, hoping that’s not actually the case. “Are you alright,mija?”
She gives me a concerned look, and I know what she’s thinking—that my wedding night was last night, and that I’m quiet and pensive this morning, and tense besides.
“I’m fine.” It’s far from true, but I can’t fathom how to begin explaining any of this to her. I certainly don’t want to go into the details of what happened last night. The thought makes me blush again, and I stare down at my coffee, trying to force it all out of my head.
