Page 41 of Wedlocked

A knock sounded on the door and Ethan let in a woman with her cleaning paraphernalia. I was too brittle to feel bad for her having to clean up. I was certain Ethan would pay her well for the task.

As the woman disappeared in the bedroom, Ethan shut the door and came back to me, his face weary. I hid a flash of disgust. Of course he was tired. He’d been up all night shagging whores and snorting coke. He pushed a hand through his dark hair. “I’ll get you some pain killers.”

I nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

He returned a few minutes later with three and I swallowed them along with a glass of water. By the time he took the glass back to the sink, the cleaner had finished and he thanked her and gave her a wad of cash. She grinned and curtsied, then disappeared back through the door she’d entered.

Ethan came back and clasped my hands, drawing me to my feet. “I know its daylight now, but I think we could both use some sleep.”

I sagged. He’d promised not to cuff me to the bed and the thought of actually being free to get in a comfortable position in bed somehow accentuated my own sleep deprivation. I nodded, and he dropped one of my hands and led me into his now spotless bedroom.

I slid under the covers and, despite my hatred toward him, the moment he climbed into the other side of the bed, then caught me up against him, I burrowed even closer then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

The next four days became something of a stilted routine, with Ethan rarely leaving the penthouse while I stay cloistered inside it as the bruising on my face slowly faded and I began to look myself again.

That I might never be myself again was another story. But I knew how to pretend I wasn’t hurting, knew how to pretend I was feeling normal. I’d been acting out that scenario for most of my life.

Ethan had only gone out twice in those four days to take care of business AKA criminal activities, which he wanted to oversee himself. Mostly though he left everything to his three brothers—his capos.

I bit into my bottom lip, thinking back to the first time I’d seen Ethan—eight days ago now. It was such a brief interval in time, and yet it had felt like a lifetime. But then, we’d been through a hell of a lot together in that condensed timeframe.

I had no doubt we’d go through a hell of lot more together.

It wasn’t until day five, when I woke slowly thanks to the dawn light in my eyes, that Ethan stretched beside me and said, “It’s time for you to get out of this building for the day.”

I rolled over to face him, blinking blearily. Though everything inside me wished to feel the sun on my face, the fresh air—likely smog—on my skin, and the sights and sounds of New York City, anxiety skittered through me.

I bit my lip, then reached up and touched my face. At least it was only a little bit tender now. He covered my hand with his. “You’re beautiful, angel.”

Angel?

I looked away, my eyes blurring. He hadn’t called me that since he’d found me battered and bruised. I’d had no idea how much it had mattered to me. How his words affected me. How deeply I was sinking into his world—into him.

He moved closer and pressed a gentle kiss to my mouth—yet another first since that terrible night. He’d been treating me like fragile porcelain, not even using me for sex. “I’ll make us breakfast while you take a shower if you want one,” he murmured. A delivery of clothes will be arriving for you,” he glanced at his gold Patek Phillipe watch, “in fifteen minutes.”

“I already have a closet full of lovely clothes.”

He nodded. “You do. But none of them are suitable for what I have in mind today.”

I sat, aware of his eyes on my breasts that pushed against my nightie. I secretly smiled. Though on one hand I’d been grateful he’d not touched me since my attack, I’d also questioned why he hadn’t had sex with me. Had it been out of respect for my injuries or because he’d found my bruised face…off-putting?

Neither made sense. A few injuries shouldn’t worry him, I was certain he’d seen more than enough broken women in his time, his dad would have made sure of that.

I looked down at him as he reclined on the bed, his gaze penetrating mine. Damn it, he read me far too easily. It was time for a subject change. “You know, I never took you as someone who enjoyed cooking.”

“Because I’m part of a mafia family?”

“Mostly because you could afford a dozen chefs.”

Like my father did. He had three on rotation.

“I do have a chef and a housemaid,” he conceded. “I gave them a week off though while we enjoyed some privacy on our honeymoon.”

I snorted. “Is staying in your own penthouse in New York really a honeymoon though?”

He sat and shrugged, his muscled shoulders and abs flexing. “We’ll take plenty of holidays elsewhere once I’ve settled all my business dealings. As you know our marriage was…unexpected. I didn’t have any time to rearrange my schedule. And until the dust settles, you’ll be safer here with me.”

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