Briefly, I wonder if I should ask about the other maid but push the thought aside when she starts to head back toward the door.
Talk to her, idiot.
“Hello, I’m Elena,” I say.
She gives me a sheepish grin. “I’m… Marie. They told me not to talk to you.”
“No one will know that we’ve talked, just you and me.” I smile, longing for some type of friendship or company at this point.
“I have to go. Sorry.” She sneaks out of the room and locks the door behind her. Like a balloon, I deflate. My stomach grumbles, alerting me to hunger, so I walk over to the tray and carry it to the bed. As I eat, I envision running through the grass and feeling drops of rain on my skin. I long for normalcy even though the world I live in will never allow it.
As I eat in silence, I become more and more aware of how late it’s getting and find myself dressed for bed, beneath the covers with my knees drawn to my chest.
Where is he? Had something happened to him? Was he still working? Worry festers in my gut even though it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t care for my savage soon to be husband. In fact, I should wish death upon him, maybe I would be sent back to my father, though that’s doubtful. I’d be given to a worse evil, I’m sure.
After what seems like hours, and my eyes start to become heavy, the bedroom opens, and Julian stumbles in. His dark hair is disheveled like he’s been running his fingers through it, and his tie is loosened, and the first couple of buttons on his dress shirt are undone.
Sleep leaves my mind as he walks in and closes the door behind him. He moves toward the bed, almost falling onto it. Looking into his blue eyes, I find them bloodshot and hungry. I can smell smoke on him from here. There’s also something else, a hint of something feminine, perfume, and that sparks something vicious inside of me. I’m well aware that men have needs, but I’m hurt and annoyed that he sought out someone else, leaving me locked in this damn room while he did it. It only reminds me further of how much of a disappointment I am to him.
“If you have to go have sex with another woman, you could at least have the courtesy to shower before you come in like you did yesterday.” I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t want to look at his stupidly handsome face, but there is nowhere else to look.
Julian gives me a coy grin. “Jealous?”
“Disgusted is a better word.” I know better than to be jealous. My father loved my mother dearly, and even he cheated. I know that in our world, that’s simply part of marriage, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“You don’t look disgusted, you look jealous. Red hot jealous.” He pauses and tilts his head to the side as if he’s examining my face. “Would it bother you that much if I was with another woman?”
“Yes,” I blurt out, shocking myself. “But not because of what you are thinking. I’m jealous of being outside. I’m jealous because you lock me in here while you take another woman out to do who knows what.” I don’t even want to think about that part. Did he take her to dinner before he screwed her? I think that part hurts the most. The fact that I was waiting for him to have dinner with me while he was with someone else. I waited like a dog at the door for him to show, and he let me down, not once, but twice.
Shaking his head, he starts laughing at me. He freaking laughs at me, and I want to punch him, punch that stupid smile off his face. “I think you have a very unrealistic idea of what I do with women when I take them out.”
Anger fills my veins. I’m tired of being the naive little girl. Tired of being sheltered and isolated away from the world.
“Then tell me. What do you do? What were you doing while I was locked in here waiting for you? Did you have dinner? Did you… have sex?” My throat tightens as I speak each word. I never expected to marry entirely for love, but I thought maybe, just maybe I’d marry a man who loved me a little bit, that wanted me enough to spend time with me and not lock me away like my father did.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
In a momentary burst of confidence, I raise my chin and stand up to him. “I do want to know. Tell me.”
Julian’s eyes twinkle, and he trails a finger down the side of my face. His touch is nothing more than a caress, but I feel it deep in my soul. “There are no dates. No dinners. No sweet and gentle sex. There is nothing but hard fucking, deep and fast with the occasional moan.”
My eyes go so wide, I’m scared they might pop out. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Is that what he wants from me?
Suddenly him buying me makes more sense. He doesn’t want dates, love, and companionship. He just wants someone for sex… nothing more, and I’m marrying him. I’m being forced into a marriage that is doomed from the start.
“And they… want that?”
He shrugs. “They’re whores, and that’s their job, so I suppose so, yeah.” His tone is mocking and annoying me further. He sought out some whore to sleep with, only to return to sleep in bed with me. I feel sickened, and even though I know I’m not ready to sleep with him, I cannot stop the emotions I have from bubbling to the surface.
“So, you go to a prostitute for sex?” I struggle with my emotions then, realizing that that’s what I am. He bought be for sex, so essentially, I’m no different from the women he sleeps with now. My chest aches thinking about it. Whore. My mother would be so ashamed and sad if she were alive right now.
“Would you rather me come to you, sweet Elena?”
I know he is taunting me, baiting me to play his game. I should be stronger than this, should turn the other cheek, but at this moment, I’m too hurt already. All I have left is to lash out. It’s like everything is weighing down on me at once, being confined to this room, shackled to a man I know nothing about, not even his agenda. I’m alone and tired… so damn tired.
Looking at him straight in the eyes, I gather up every ounce of courage I have.
“You already paid for it, didn’t you? You paid for me to be your own personal whore. So why go and spend more money on other women when I’m right here?”
For a tiny instant, I see surprise flash across his face, then the moment is gone. His pale blue eyes turn dark, and before I know it, he is on me. One hand wraps around my throat as he shoves me against the mattress while his other snakes beneath my nightgown, cupping my pussy. My eyes bulge out of my head, and I struggle, gasping for air, panicking that he’s going to take me right now. I shouldn’t have pushed him. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Tears blur my vision. Feral, that’s how he looks right now, and I’m trapped in his burning rage.
Leaning into my face, he growls, “Do you think you could handle my dark, sinister needs? Could you handle my cock, owning every hole in your body? Choking on me as I fill your throat with my cum? Is that how you want me to treat you? Like a whore?”
Shaking my head, a whimper of fear escapes my lips when I feel his fingers probing against my entrance. I want his touch. I want him to want me, to see me, but not like this. I don’t want his hate, and I don’t want this to hurt.
“Please.” I barely get the word past my lips.
Coldness overtakes his features, and I feel his fingers move my panties to the side, one finger tracing against my folds. I shudder against him and wrap a hand around the wrist that’s between my legs, tugging on it to stop him.