Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Finally Francisco nods. “All right. I will do my best to describe my plans for you. For us. I want things to be plain. To be clear. The last thing I want is drama in this marriage, in my life.”
The last sentence sounds like a warning. “Good,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“I expect you to be a good society wife, to host dinner parties and galas. And because you have an interest and a talent in it, to manage my hospitality investments.”
Relief fills me. This part I can handle. “Great.”
“And in bed,” he proceeds, “I expect you to be sexually subservient.”
My breath catches. “Sexually—”
“Subservient, yes. With whatever my requests might be. I’ll never ask you to do anything dangerous, but it won’t always be comfortable. It will be pleasurable, most of the time. Unless you don’t follow my orders well enough. Then there might be corporal punishment.”
I’m failing at one of my first and most important qualities—poise. My cheeks must be on fire. I’ve definitely lost my composure if my face is going up in flames.
Hot embarrassment chokes me like a hand around my throat.
“You misled me.” My voice comes out hoarse. I meet Francisco’s eyes over the offending paper. My skin is hot enough to scorch it, but I try to keep my breathing in check. “This isn’t how the marriage was described to me. You never said anything about corporal punishment.”
“What did you think would happen if you disobeyed me?”
“I don’t know! Nothing.” I’m half up out of my chair. “I’m a grown woman.”
“Then why are you shouting and stomping your foot like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum?” Francisco’s tone makes me feel small.
“This isn’t a tantrum. It’s being upset. A grown woman is allowed to be upset.” My voice shakes. It’s not the voice I should be using in this room, with this man. It’s not the voice I expected to be using at all in this new life of mine. But the even tone I’ve practiced and cultivated and used to my advantage all my life seems as out of reach as the moon.
I’m out of my chair without realizing it, already standing. My emotions jostle one another for prominence, and I hate it. I hate the twist in my stomach and the heat in my face and the desperate sense that I don’t know where to look. I feel used and bought and afraid—and that fear makes my knees quake.
“Isabella.” The corners of Francisco’s mouth turn down.
He is still gorgeous, even when he’s frowning. The hint of disapproval in his eyes makes me feel more afraid.
And it makes me feel a twisted desire. He’s scolding me. Reminding me that my role is to sit quietly across from him. To honor and obey. Not this. It’s not supposed to be this heated.
I don’t sit down.
I can’t.
“This is too much,” I say, backing away. “I can’t do it. I didn’t agree to this. I’m out.”
I have to get away from him and everything in this room. From the gaze that sees everything I’m afraid of and the golden morning sunlight in his hair and the adorable dog. Running from this anointed king is the only way to save myself.
It’s futile. I know it as soon as I take the next breath. I won’t be the daughter who ruins things for her family. I won’t be saving myself, either. There’s no way out of this agreement.
I turn on my heel and go. If I can’t get out of this marriage, then I’ll take the next best thing—getting out of this room, where his eyes can’t follow me.
CHAPTER 8
Francisco
Wolf whines, wanting to go after her, but I give him a firm no.
I give my dear wife two hours to cool off.
She’s right, of course. I should have told her the full extent of my demands in the bedroom. I should have been crystal clear about the way I would take and own and use her body.
I should have outlined, in black and white, what that would mean in practical terms. It means she is never to close her thighs to me. It means she can cry and shake and beg, but she can never walk away. It means I’ll order her lady’s maid to lick her pretty little pussy until she comes.
Why didn’t I tell her those things?
Why didn’t I sit her down, look her in the eye, and recite the list?
Probably because I knew it would scare her away. It would terrify a woman like Isabella, already so innocent and cloistered. Even her party days with champagne and dancing didn’t prepare her for me. Nothing could have prepared her for me.
There was evidence enough of that in her eyes. All that pretty shock and horrified desire. I would have liked to take her chin in my hand and watch the expressions roll over her face.