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I take a long sip of my lemon water and raise the bread to indicate that yes he very much is feeding me bread and water right now, not that I’m complaining.
He rolls his eyes and continues. “You will be allowed to go outside. I’m not going to throw you down and have my way with you until you beg me for it.”
I keep my gaze focused on a small sail boat with a blue and purple sail, drifting off toward the horizon. I can’t look at him when he talks about me begging him.
“Like that will happen,” I say, ignoring how close it already was to happening last night.
“It will happen.” Aidan is the picture of confidence.
“You’re trying to win me,” I say unnecessarily. Of course he is. And I’ve always known this, I just didn’t know how committed he’d be to the role once the paperwork of my fate was signed. It’s not enough that I’m here, now he wants me to want to be here. It’s not enough to control my environment and what I can and can’t do and the flow of money. He’s got to control my thoughts and feelings and desires about it as well.
“I’ve been trying to win you since we were six.”
When I turn to look at him, his expression is so open and sincere. Part of me wants to believe in it, but even if I did, I can’t let any of this go.
How is it that this man has stalked me for decades and practically kidnapped me, thinks I’m some “thing” he can acquire with enough money and leverage, and yet somehow I still feel like the ungrateful brat in this scenario? I’d better get my head on straight right now.
“You didn’t have to force me to marry you. You could have…”
“What? Started dating you after the alley incident? So you would have preferred I lie to you about who I was?”
“You DID lie!” I say.
“Choosing not to tell you my entire backstory that night isn’t lying. Anyway, you would have found out eventually and then you’d be mad about that.”
I don’t argue with him because he’s probably right.
Eighteen
Aidan
There are cracks in Maddie’s walls, but she can’t let herself give in to me. She doesn’t like what it might say about her, but she wants to. I can feel it. All she has to do is let me in.
We both know that if we’d met in any other way... if the first time she’d met me was in that alleyway, I could have had her eating out of the palm of my hand inside of a week. Even with that dramatic introduction, she was halfway to giving herself to me in the car that night. But Maddie has pride.
Don’t get me wrong, I would be entirely repulsed by a woman who had no standards or boundaries or sense of personal pride and self-respect, but it feels artificially erected. Performance art at this point.
Who is watching any of this unfold but us? Why does she need to put on a strong front, keep her guard up? For what? I have her. And eventually we will consummate this marriage.
If she were able to sway me… if I could find any warmth or mercy in my heart… as long as we didn’t consummate, she could hold onto the tiniest sliver of hope that I’d let her out of this marriage. I’m sure there’s some unlikely reality in which I would allow her to leave this union and go back to her life without me.
But once we seal this deal completely... once I have her virgin blood, there will be no backing out. I would never give her a divorce after that. Marriage is a sacrament, and it is forever, no matter what flighty modern minds might think about it. Don’t want that chain? Don’t put it on.
Not that Maddie had much of a choice. Still. I won’t take her until she begs me, so she does have some measure of choice, and I have made that clear. As long as she can resist me, her cage door remains the slightest bit open, and hope springs eternal for her eventual release.
We finish lunch by sharing Le Sel’s salted dark chocolate ganache tart. I pay the bill and we make our way back in the boat to the mainland. We don’t talk. We didn’t talk much while we ate either, except for Maddie’s defensive snark.
But as we walk down the boardwalk back toward the car, I slip my hand into hers, and she doesn’t pull away. I think touch is her language. It’s mine, too. When I try with the words, I mess it up. And she doesn’t want to say anything emotionally vulnerable. And who can blame her? I’m no one’s Prince Charming.
Can two people know each other even if they don’t use a lot of words? How many childhood stories do we owe each other before we can confidently say we’re close? What are the requirements for love? Is it time? Shared hardship? Telling each other secrets?
I don’t know if I can ever tell her my secrets. They would only push us farther apart. I wave Vinny away and open the car door for her myself.
By the time we reach the exclusive shopping district, Maddie has fallen asleep against me.
I nudge her. “Maddie, wake up.”
She seems self-conscious when she realizes where she is and that she was sleeping against me. She wipes the back of her mouth as if to make sure she didn’t drool all over me. She didn’t.