Page 37 of Bloody Vows
“You don’t sound fine.” Nora walks over to where I’m sitting, putting a plate with a cinnamon roll and a bowl of fruit salad in front of me. “Eat,mija. You need to keep yourself sharp, married to a man like that.”
A short laugh escapes my lips as I pull the bowl toward me, reaching for a fork to pick at the strawberries. Nora has no idea just how right she is.
“He’s insufferable,” I mutter through a mouthful of fruit. “I can’t—I don’t know how I’m going to live with a man like that.”
“I don’t know if you have any choice.” Nora’s tone isn’t unsympathetic, but I hate that she’s right.
“He thinks he owns me.” I stab at a piece of banana. “Like I’m… property that he bought.”
“According to the world you live in…” Nora lets out a breath. “You don’t need me to tell you all this,mija. You know how things are. And I know it’s hard.”
“This is forever.” I drop my fork, looking at her. “Forever.I don’t know how… I can’t handle this. Being married to him for the rest of my life…”
“You’ll learn how,” Nora reassures me. “And he’ll grow bored. He’ll give you children and leave you alone to raise them. It will all be alright, in time…” She frowns, looking at me narrowly. “Unless you’re lamenting that you’ll never have some great love?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not that.” I never imagined falling in love or having some wild romantic affair. That was never in the cards for me, and I knew it. I’ve never been that kind of dreamer.
I wanted respect. A man who treated me as if I were something he was lucky to have been given, instead of a prize he won. Tristan acts as ifIshould be grateful tohimfor deigning to marry me, when, as far as I know, he’s a second son who is inheriting only because he managed to force me into wedlock.
Just thinking about it all makes me want to scream.
“Patience.” Nora pats my hand in a motherly way. “It will get easier, in time.”
I want to believe her. I finish my food in silence—or as much of it as I can manage, at least, as anxious and overwrought as I am—and get up afterward to go and take a walk around the estate. The grounds here have always felt like a refuge, acres of gardens and walking paths, space where I know I’m safe butcan explore without being bothered. The open air and warm sun make my chest loosen as I step outside, make me feel as if I can take deep breaths again.
But it doesn’t take long before, even out here, I see evidence of Tristan’s occupation.
The security here has always been subtle, guards moving around the property with an ease and casualness that keeps the estate from feeling like a fortress. But I’ve lived here all my life, and my father was a man who prioritized loyalty, so the faces of all of the security have become familiar to me over the years, even if I don’t know all of their names by heart. I’ve also seen them patrolling often enough that it’s easy for me to pick them out, and I quickly realize that the men I see this morning arenotfamiliar.
Just like the men at the guards’ gatehouse last night weren’t familiar, when we drove back after the wedding reception. I thought then that maybe Tristan had just appointed his own men to watch the front of the estate—annoying, but understandable. But as I make my way down the walking path, catching sight of men who are clearly security but who I don’t know, a growing knowledge settles in my mind.
Tristan is replacingeveryonewho worked for my father.
My jaw tightens, any respite that the outdoors and the walk might have given me fleeing. He’s determined to take over every part of this place. He might have claimed that it would beours, but it’s becominghis. His empire, without any trace of anyone who might have a lingering loyalty to my father, tome.
A small, practical part of me, the part that is the mafia princess my father raised—whispers that it’s what anyone would do, in Tristan’s position. That replacing old loyalists to an old boss with men who respect and follow him is the smart move. But I brush it away, because I don’t want to hear it.
I don’t want Tristan here. I don’t want his men here. I don’t want him taking over every part of the life that used to feel like mine and now no longer does.
The realization makes me want to scream.
Instead, I pivot, and head back toward the house and, once inside, straight to the indoor gym. I need some way to work out my frustrations, and a good physical sweat seems like as useful a way as any.
The familiar burn of physical exertion turns out to be exactly what I need. I start with a five-mile run on the treadmill, pushing myself harder than usual, trying to outrun the memory of Tristan's hands on my body, the way his fingers felt inside of me as he pushed me over the edge. When that doesn't work, I move to the weight machines, opening the workout app that I pulled up earlier to try and figure out some exercises that will help me build up muscle.
Just in case I do decide to actually smother him with a pillow.
I’m in the middle of my third set of bicep curls with a ten-pound weight when I catch Tristan’s reflection in the mirror in front of me.
He’s standing in the doorway of the gym, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching me work out. He's changed from the robe he was wearing this morning into tailored suit pants that hug his muscled hips and thighs perfectly, and a button-down that was likely accentuated with a tie and jacket earlier, but is now all that clings to his upper body. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing muscular forearms, and his copper hair has fallen slightly forward, making the green of his eyes even more evident.
I set the weights down, my jaw tightening. I refuse to turn around and fully acknowledge his presence.
"Long enough." His gaze travels over my body in the mirror, taking in the sports bra and leggings I'm wearing, the sheen ofsweat on my skin. I regret taking off my tank top earlier—there’s too much flesh on display for him now. "You're stronger than you look."
“I’m working on it.” I pick up the weights again. “You’re interrupting me.”
He chuckles, not moving an inch. “Am I? I’m just curious about your choice of workouts. I would have pegged you for a runner.”
