Page 77 of Bloody Vows
There’s probably fifteen thousand dollars' worth of gifts at least sitting on my bed. I stare at them, remembering our last fight. I wonder if this is Tristan’s new tactic. Punishing me hasn’t worked, and fighting with me hasn’t worked, so now… what? He tempts me with gifts? Tries spoiling me?
I’m tempted to throw it all into the trash and tell him to go fuck himself, until I see that there’s another note tucked inside the box.
Be ready by seven.
–Tristan
I let out a sharp breath,looking at the dress and heels and jewelry, and then at the note. He has something planned, and though my rebellious instinct is to ignore him, throw all this away, and decidedlynotbe downstairs by seven, my curiosity is already getting the better of me.
What the hell is he planning?
Two hours later, I'm standing in front of my full-length mirror, fully aware of how perfect every choice that Tristan made was. The dress fits like it was made for me, skimming over my curves with the perfect, sleek fall of the silk. The diamonds catch the light and show off the lines of my throat and collarbone, drawing attention to the swell of my cleavage in the red silk dress, and the heels show off my legs, the split in the skirt finishing off the effect. With my hair swept up in an elegant updo, I know exactly how good I look.
At the very least, this entire outfit is going to drive Tristan insane. If I have my way, he won’t get to touch me in it.
But I rarely get my way with him.
Tristan is waiting downstairs for me, when I walk down precisely at seven. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored dark grey suit, his copper hair styled back away from his face and his green eyes gleaming with heat the instant he sees me, intense and focused on me in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.
"You look..." He stops, his gaze traveling slowly from my head to my feet and back up again. "Beautiful."
The compliment tingles over my skin, and I have to fight to keep my expression neutral. "What is this, Tristan?"
"Dinner," he says simply, offering me his arm. "Just dinner."
I don't take his arm immediately. "Why?"
"Because I want to take my wife out." His voice is carefully neutral, but I can see something flickering in his eyes. "Is that so strange?"
It is strange. Everything about this is strange. The man who forces me to my knees and threatens to spank me when I disobey him doesn't strike me as the type to plan romantic evenings out. But I find myself taking his arm anyway, because the alternative is staying in this mansion with nothing but my thoughts and the armed guards for company.
The restaurant he takes me to is the kind of place that requires reservations months in advance, extravagant and luxurious in the extreme, with a curated menu and wine list that costs more than some people’s monthly rent for a bottle. We're escorted to a private table in the back by a gorgeous blonde in a skintight dress and high heels, but Tristan barely looks at her. His hand rests on the small of my back from the moment we leave the car—where, for once, he didn’t try to touch me, and I’m entirely on edge, waiting to find out what this is all about.
Tristan pulls out my chair for me, and I narrow my eyes at him as he sits down, picking up the wine list. “What is this, Tristan?”
He shrugs, his expression calm and cool. “Maybe I wanted a night out with my wife.”
“There’s always an ulterior motive. You’ve never taken me out.”
“I haven’t gotten a chance to.”
“Bullshit,” I say the word quietly, though I see the flash in his eyes, and I know the threat that’s about to come from his lips.“Don’t bother saying it, either. I know what you want to do with my mouth. WhatIwant to know is what you’re plotting.”
“So suspicious.” His mouth curls in an amused smirk. “Why does there have to be an ulterior motive?”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Because this isn’t your style.”
Tristan’s gaze lingers on mine. “And what, exactly, is mystyle,célie?”
I bite my lip. “Demanding things of me. Taking what you want. Putting me in my place. Stealing what doesn’t belong to you. Should I go on?” I smile sweetly at him. “Not spoiling your wife with tens of thousands of dollars in gifts and a luxurious dinner out.”
Tristan raises one shoulder in an elegant half-shrug. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
The words hang between us, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair. He’s right about that, whether I want to admit it or not. I don’t know him at all, not really. I know he has an overbearing father, I know he takes what he wants, and I know he’s both powerful and dangerous. I know he makes me feel things that I can’t help but fight. But I don’t knowhim.
Just as he doesn’t really know me.
“It wouldn’t make a difference,” I manage. “Knowing you isn’t going to make me like you more, Tristan.”
