Page 70 of Bloody Vows
"I understand that you didn't want this," I begin, and she lets out a bitter laugh.
"Do you? Do you really understand what it's like to have your entire life decided for you by men who see you as nothing more than a bargaining chip?"
"More than you might think." I sink down on the edge of her bed, studying her face. "There are expectations that have been placed onmemy whole life, too, Simone. But that's not what I don't understand. You were raised in this world. You knew you'd have an arranged marriage eventually. Your father was working on one before he died. So why are you fighting this one so hard? Why are you fighting me?"
She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers wrapped around the coffee cup, staring down into it like it has the answer she should give me. When she finally speaks, her voice is clipped, sharp, but it doesn’t lessen the impact of what she says.
"Because I didn't plan for you."
I know what she means. She doesn’t have to explain. She didn’t plan for a husband who would make her feel something, who would arouse her the way I do, and I smirk at her, unable to hide the spreading glee in my chest at her admission that she’s not impervious to me.
“You didn’t plan to meet a man who you can’t control yourself around.”
Her eyes snap to mine, glinting with irritation. “Don’t think so highly of yourself, Tristan. It’s not becoming.”
“Clearly you think highly of me. Was it before or after I made you scream while you were coming all over my cock last night?”
“You’re fucking insufferable,” she spits out, and I smile at her.
“Careful,célie. Keep cursing at me, and we’ll repeat yesterday all over again. Your mouth was the best I’ve ever had.”
She pauses, her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. I’ve never done it before. It can’t have been the best.”
“It was.” I give her that, that small admission of how she makes me feel, the pleasure she’s capable of giving me, in hopes that it softens something between us. That it makes us able tofind a middle ground. But I can still see her seething, her jaw tight as she stares me down.
"I was prepared for a marriage of convenience,” she says flatly. “As you said. Arealmarriage of convenience. A polite, distant arrangement with a man who would leave me alone most of the time, who would treat me like a decorative object to be displayed at parties and ignored otherwise. I was prepared for someone who would want my name and my inheritance but not... not me."
I can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. "But I want you."
Her cheeks flush pink, and she looks away. "You want to possess me. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you want to be possessed. At least by me."
“All I want is to be free of you,” she snaps, and I chuckle.
“I saw the way you responded to me last night, Simone. Ifeltit. In the car, after I found you. You weren't thinking about convenience or arrangements then."
She stands abruptly, moving to the window and putting distance between us. "That was adrenaline. Fear. It didn't mean anything."
"Didn't it?" I stand too, moving closer to her, refusing to let her distance herself. “At the very least, Simone, it means you want me the way I want you. There’s passion between us. Sparks. Lust. You want me to give you pleasure as much as I want to take it from you. Marriages have flourished with much less.”
She doesn't answer, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands are clenched at her sides. I can smell her perfume, a waft of expensive floral scent that makes me want to bury my face in her neck. I want to devour her. It’s hard to think when she’s around, hard to focus on what needs tobe said when all I want is to feel her heat around me again, to engage in the challenge of trying to make her let go.
"Tell me about Sal Envio," I say, changing the subject before I do something stupid like reach for her.
She turns, surprise flickering across her face. I’ve managed to catch her off guard, at least. "What? You already know everything about him.”
“I want to hear what you have to say about him.”
Her eyes narrow, as if my asking for her input is a trap that she’s waiting to be sprung. "He was my father's right-hand man for years. His most trusted advisor, his enforcer when necessary."
"And now?"
"Now he's been pushed out of power by my father's death. By you taking over." She meets my eyes, her expression carefully blank. "He's not the kind of man who accepts that gracefully."
"What else?"
She hesitates. "He's cruel. Especially to women. My father wasn't a warm man, but Ithoughthe had certain lines he wouldn't cross, though I know better now. Sal doesn't have those lines. He never has. He sees women as objects to be used and discarded. He says he wants to give me to Enzo, to be his right hand, but I’m not sure I trust that.”
