Page 89 of Captive Bride

In the tub, it’s like I’m in my own world. I try to forget about all of the violence and all the unease. But it’s fucking impossible.

So then I turn to the champagne. I pop the cork and drink straight from the bottle.

This is my tonic. This alcohol is what soothes my soul—for the moment, at least.

And then just as I’m starting to relax, he comes in.

There he is, staring at me with wild, lust-filled eyes.

There’s also a hint of regret on his face. I know he doesn’t want to do it, to kill Theo. But that doesn’t matter.

If Tristan wanted out of this deal, I’m sure he could find a way.

I turn away from him insolently and take a sip of the champagne.

I know I can’t resist Tristan forever. I know he only has my best interests at heart. But at this moment, my anger is making me see red.

All I can think about is the bloodied body of someone I love at the end of this.

“Isobel, can we talk about this?”

I turn to him, unable to hold back the scathing words that are on the tip of my tongue.

“There’s nothing to say, Tristan. You signed over your death warrant. Either that, or you’re gonna kill my cousin, the only person in my life that I’ve ever loved besides Thelma. How do you think that makes you feel?”

He stares at me for a long moment as I’m sitting there naked in the bathtub. He looks like he wants to fuck me despite the circumstances.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the exact same way.

The connection between Tristan and I is always on high. Even when we’re in the midst of our darkest days, this connection keeps us together and promises a better future.

I only want to be in his arms. I want him to take away the pain, even if it’s only temporary.

It occurs to me that I might lose Tristan, and that makes my passion for him all the more prominent. I need this man to complete me, and I’ll be lost without him.

He leans down and tips my chin up so that he can kiss me.

I don’t know why I submit. I don’t know why I return the kiss.

I just know that I want Tristan. He means everything to me. He’s a constant fire that’s burning in my soul that can never be put out.

It’s just him and I against the world.

I know that.

I pull away and drink the champagne. I guzzle it and watch him the entire time.

He can’t be happy that I’m drinking so much, but I don’t care. Let him feel my anger.

In truth, I’m trying to provoke him in every way possible. I just want a reaction out of him. I want him to get on bended knee and apologize to me for being such an asshole.

But I know that will never happen.

“Don’t you think you’re going a little heavy on the champagne?” he asks.

I ignore him and continue drinking.

I’m starting to get buzzed. My head is starting to spin.

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