Page 42 of Bound to Him

I took a seat and tried to watch the actual races, but oh no, there would be none of that. Constantly, people came to join us and have a chat with Christian. Obnoxious, fat men and narcissistic skinny women who sat and glared at me the whole time they were there. Random scaly-looking Colombian men that I had no doubt were deep in the drug business, like on the streets. There was even a man who came around with a girl who looked younger than me, and she looked battered. Tired, scrawny, possibly high as a kite, I wasn’t sure. I wanted to reach out and ask if she was okay, but Christian quickly told the man to leave us alone.

“So, princess, are you having a good time?” Christian asked me, three whiskeys in. He lounged back on the cushioned seating with his arms spread out, smiling as though he’d given me the best day of my life. “You’ve hardly touched your wine.”

“Um, yeah I don’t drink during the day very often.” I shrugged, hoping to bore him with my answers.

“Aw no, you just haven’t been taught how to do it yet! Drink up!”

Feeling my hackles rise, I finished the last of the wine in my glass and let him pour me another. Luckily, another of his friends stopped by to say hello and he turned away, so I poured half my glass into the garden bed behind us and casually added water to the wine. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice it was a few shades lighter now.

“So, let me tell you,” he started, turning his body to face me. In the spirit of high-class horse racing events, I’d decided to wear my fully white jumpsuit. It was wide-legged, and the halter neck kept my bulky chest covered, but showed off my shoulders and arms quite well. His eyes slid down my arm, making me regret not wearing a nun’s habit. “Around here… I am rather popular.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I said flatly.

“You see that horse lining up right now, the one in pink?”

“Yes?”

“That one's mine. You see the white one?”

“Yes.”

“Mine as well. I could go on, but you see, this is why I’m so well known here. Everyone likes to know how the owner of their favorite winning horses is doing.” He shrugged proudly, smiling and taking the last swig of his drink. “Hola!” He called the waitress, not looking at her, but merely holding his glass out.

“Thank you.” I smiled at her, feeling she needed it from somebody today. She certainly looked grateful, but Christian looked at me, making this disapproving noise in the back of his throat.

After another boring-as-shit hour there, we finally left for lunch. I couldn’t believe we were only halfway through this day-date; I was quickly losing my resolve to go ahead and marry this man. He was fucking rude and sexist toward any female in the service industry. He took me to a rooftop restaurant in the city—which was absolutely stunning at least, and I managed to get through the meal with only nods and smiles. If I did answer a question, I made sure it was boring and short.

Even with all my discouragement, Christian still touched me all the time. I hated it with such a passion because they weren’t even nice gentle touches. No, they were hard squeezes on my shoulder or rough tugs to pull me to his side. I knew forceful—Huxley had taught me a thing or two about sexual forcefulness that was caring and sensual—but Christian’s type of forceful was pure greed. He only confirmed that when he told me we were going to make a pitstop before he took me home.

In the very same building, one floor down, was one of Christian’s penthouse apartments. It was no surprise to me at all now that he’d brought us here, to this specific restaurant.

“Please, make yourself comfortable!” He strode over to his living room bar and immediately started pouring drinks. I dropped my handbag on the couch, then stood at the windows that overlooked Manhattan. “I thought maybe you’d like to see this place, it’s beautiful, no?”

“It is beautiful.” He walked up and handed me a tumbler of whiskey. I knew already there was no point in telling him I didn’t drink whiskey and began looking around for a potted plant.

“Maybe you’d like to live here after our wedding? Nice and close to your family, a few blocks from Central Park, and enough space for bambinos even!” He started laughing, but I looked at him blankly.

Bambinos?Fuck, I hadn’t even gotten that far in my thoughts yet. I merely hoped I could get through the wedding night, but he was already planning on knocking me up.

“Don’t you have kids already?” I asked, remembering his long and self-absorbed stories.

“And what’s wrong with more? You don’t want children?”

I swallowed, not wanting to answer him at all. Either way I went would probably be the wrong answer.

“Come, let’s sit. I can see I’m overwhelming you, especially after the long day with all the drinks, I’m sure you’re tired.”

I could see what he wanted to do from a mile away, but there was nothing I could do, I had to play along. I put my glass down and sat on the edge of the couch.

“Come here, my darling.” He patted the cushion next to him. I didn’t move. “I said… come here!”

He leaned forward and wrapped his arm around my waist, then pulled me back, so I was tucked in under his arm. “That’s better, see? You can even see the view from here.” He said it, but he was looking at me. His eyes moved down my neck and settled on my chest.

I immediately felt uncomfortable and tried to sit forward again. “Christian, I—”

“No.”

His hands held me with a tight grip, pushing me back against the couch. I gasped slightly, suddenly feeling scared.

---