Page 26 of Surrender
How could he have abandoned them?
Once upon a time, they were such a happy family. If her father had stuck around, would things have turned out differently for Fiona and her mother in the aftermath of the war? Would he have managed to keep them safe and out of Camp Syracuse? At the very least, he would’ve been able to help watch over her mother. Maybe then Fiona wouldn’t have had to marry Merokk.
But her father hadn’t liked helping. Not after Mom got sick. He became more and more withdrawn, aside from his occasional and sometimes violent drunken outbursts, until finally one day he just left, barely saying goodbye, leaving a teenage Fiona struggling to care for her sick mother.
Burning hatred soon replaced the ache in her chest.
Abandoned. The man she’d once admired above all others had abandoned them.
She glanced at Merokk. Did all men have their breaking point? She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, something awful might happen to precipitate Merokk abandoning her and their future children. Not that they would likely have children—Kall-human pregnancies were extremely rare—but the possibility that he could conceivably abandon her caused a wave of sadness to sweep over her.
The prospect of Merokk abandoning her had never crossed her mind before, but now she suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about it. As far as she knew, Kall married for life and didn’t believe in divorce, but that didn’t ease her worries. If she displeased him in some way, he could always send her away to live elsewhere.
Why didn’t this prospect make her happy?
She studied his masculine profile as he talked to President Carson, admiring his firm square jaw and the white strands that sparsely dusted his otherwise dark hair. His posture was straight and an aura of confidence clung to him. His dark red skin shone beautifully under the warm lights.
He turned and met her gaze, and she flushed at having been caught staring. She glanced away and reached for her wine glass, only to remember a servant had taken it away when she declined another refill. She picked up a glass of water instead and took a long drink, needing something to do while they waited for dessert to arrive.
At least the meal was almost over. She was eager to return home. To Merokk’s house.
Though she appreciated Merokk’s attempts to make her feel at home there, she found the welcoming atmosphere unsettling at times. Firstly, her mother wasn’t there. Secondly, no matter how many years she lived in the grand home as Merokk’s wife, she would never trulybehis wife. Because he thought she was freaking Betsy Carson.
And yet she couldn’t imagine leaving, couldn’t imagine parting from the huge alien warrior whose tender glances made her heart swell with warmth, whose mere presence made her body hum with longing.
She chided herself for her ridiculous feelings. Never in her life had she fallen so hard, so fast.He’s the enemy, he’s the enemy, he’s the enemy…
Fiona really should’ve accepted that fourth glass of wine.
Chapter 15
The cool eveningair soothed Merokk’s senses. He guided Betsy into the waiting hovercar and ordered the driver to take them home. He found her behavior with her father a bit strange but decided not to question her. He’d expected her to be more talkative, but then her behavior had always surprised him, since she wasn’t as exuberant as he’d imagined she would be after reading the profile about her. Instead, he found her reserved and a bit mysterious.
Not that he could complain about it. He’d expected she would constantly be on the move—going on expensive shopping trips and hanging out with her rich and famous friends. He’d even worried she would request they travel frequently, as had been her habit before the war. But he found he liked having her at home, liked having her to himself, and liked knowing she was always there waiting for him.
He wrapped an arm around her as the hovercar lurched forward. Was Betsy hiding her true self from him? Or had the war changed her?
Was she unhappy with him?
He pushed this last thought aside, telling himself it didn’t matter. They were married and he would never part with her, even if she wished for it. Another thought struck him, something that might explain her reserved behavior, and he shifted uncomfortably, his usual composure slipping as he considered how to best broach the difficult subject with his wife.
Perhaps she knew about the practice ofushrina. That might explain her behavior—she might very well fear for her life.
“Betsy, as you are aware, Kall marriages are for life,” he said, looking down at her.
“Yes, I know. I knew that when we got married.” She shot him a quizzical glance.
“Are you aware that there is a loophole for Kall husbands who wish to end an unhappy marriage?” Loophole seemed like a terrible descriptor and he nearly grimaced at his word choice.
She paled and shrank away from him, but he tightened his hold on her and drew her closer. They needed to discuss this delicate matter, but he didn’t wish for her to fear him. No matter what the future brought, whether they found happiness together or not, he would never commitushrina. He would sooner plunge a knife into his own heart.
He looked down upon Kall males who could discard their wives so easily. It was an abominably cruel practice and he wanted to make Betsy understand his viewpoint on the subject. He didn’t wish for her to worry needlessly that the worst might happen.
Betsy drew in a shaky breath and shook her head. “I, um, no. No, I didn’t know that.” She paused and her expression became pained. “Are you displeased with me, Merokk? Do you wish to send me away? I guess I could ask my father if I could live in the White House, but—”
Raw anger coursed through him at the idea of her living anywhere but under his roof. Before he realized what he was doing, he had Betsy by the arms, his fingers digging into her flesh.
“You will not live in the White House or anywhere else!” he growled, fury sweeping through him at the very notion of Betsy living apart from him. “You are my wife, and your place is with me, always.”
