Page 7 of Entangled
3
SOREN
“Soren!”
I groaned internally at the sound of Jude calling my name. I’d fallen asleep with a book in my hand last night and forgot to set an alarm, up too late reading about a life I wish was my own.
Okay, maybe I didn’t truly wish to live the life of the main character of a Stephen King novel, but escapism was escapism.
“Coming!” I replied, getting out of bed, pulling a robe over my nightgown, and stepping into my slippers. Jude didn’t like to be kept waiting.
I came down the stairs to the kitchen where Jude was seated at the table, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.
Fuck.
I didn’t realize just how badly I’d slept in this morning. Seeing Jude have his coffee and breakfast already in front of him was a bad enough sign that I wasverylate.
Usually, it was me who cooked breakfast for Jude and got him the newspaper. But I refused to believe he had gotten it together himself.
“Good morning, Mrs. Peirano,” a stout older woman said from the sink, already cleaning the dishes from breakfast.
“Soren, this is Martha,” Jude said, not taking his eyes away from the paper. “She’ll be staying with us and taking care of things for a while. I require your presence at an upcoming business meeting.”
I didn’t know whether to feel excited about the fact that I’d get to leave the house or worried. Jude rarely let me leave the house anymore unless I was under the watchful eye of him or one of his watchdogs. I only went out on the town a couple of nights a week, if that. It had dwindled down to once every couple months, if I was lucky. None of the girls I went out with wanted to feel watched all night. Plus, Jude didn’t like it when I drank anyway.
“Nice to meet you, Martha,” I said, making my way to where Jude was seated at the table.
“Good morning, love,” I said to Jude, pecking him on the cheek. I pulled a chair out and took a seat next to him, waiting for the shoe to drop and my punishment for not being awake in time to greet the new maid and prepare his food. He always preferred me to be punctual, else I became an embarrassment to him and made him late.
I took this time to take in my husband’s features. He was someone men looked at and wanted to be friends with, and who the ladies looked at and wanted to fuck. His hair was a warm blonde color, and his smile could light up a room. It was in the depths of his ocean-blue eyes that gave away the coldness within him.
Jude’s eyes snapped to mine, and I quickly looked away, realizing I’d been caught staring.. Making eye contact with a man like him was a mistake, a sign of disrespect.
Strike two for the day.
“We’ll be going away this weekend to your mother’s house,” Jude said, giving his attention back to the paper. He was acting nonchalant, but I knew not to see it as a sign of hope.
I bit my tongue and swallowed my response of “she’s not my mother” before I blurted it out and caught strike three. Every time he mentioned Lilah and said she was my mother, which he did to spite me, bile rose in my throat. I could hardly stand her as it was.
Lilah would never be half the woman my mother was. Even though I’d never known my mother, from what I’d gathered from my father’s stories and the pictures he would show me, she was an amazing, one of a kind soul. She’d been caught up in the violence of being a crime lord’s wife and been taken from us shortly after I was born. My father had never been able to recover from that loss. Sometimes I wonder if he died of a broken heart. I knew in my soul that he didn’t marry Lilah because he loved her. Even if he truly did, she didn’t deserve it.
There was no way anyone could love a woman as vile and manipulative as her.
“Okay, my love,” I replied, twisting a piece of my hair between my fingers. I could see the split ends getting worse, but for some reason I couldn’t cut it. It was a comfort to me, and I had an irrational fear of cutting even an inch of my hair.
“We’ll be leaving tonight once I return home,” he continued. “Make sure our bags are packed so we can leave soon after.”
“Of course, love,” I replied obediently.
Jude insisted on being called “love”. He’d shit bricks if I ever called him by his government name. In the beginning, I adored calling him by something sweet. Now the pet names felt like poison on my tongue. They held no love or meaning anymore.
Jude neatly folded the newspaper and laid it down on the table, sipping the last of his coffee from the mug in front of him.
“Thank you, Martha,” Jude said, giving her a big smile that I knew to be fake. I watched as Martha returned it, not at all able to see through his mask quite yet. For her own benefit, I hoped she learned sooner than later to see through his facade.
“Goodbye, Soren. I’ll text you when I’m close to home tonight so you can bring the bags out and we can leave,” Jude said, planting a kiss on the top of my head.
I didn’t let out a breath until he was out the door, and I knew for now I’d evaded his wrath. Of all the things I refused to believe, Jude softening up was the biggest of them all. He would never spare me any kindness ever again.
