Page 14 of Bloody Wedding (The Order of the Owed #1)

EIGHT

RULES

LONI

S eeing Adrian Heller ready to kill for me again does something to me that I’m almost too ashamed to admit—even to myself.

I hate him. At least, I’m pretty sure I do.

He made my life hell for so long, then betrayed me.

I lost everything because of him… and I’d forget all of that because he hates Desmond more than me?

I step away from him. When he lets me go easily, I know I made the right choice. Grabbing my chair, I tug it out, then plop down into it before gesturing toward the spread on the table.

“You cooked breakfast for us?”

Adrian is quiet for a moment. And then, with a hint of a smile, he asks, “Are you trying to change the subject, princess?”

Is it that obvious?

“I don’t want to talk about Desmond,” I say firmly. “If you do, I’m going back to my room.”

“Without breakfast? You refused dinner last night. And Dallas told me you barely touched your lunch yesterday before the wedding.”

How does he know that? Well, Dallas told him. Duh. Of course he did. Only… why does he give a shit?

I shrug. “If I get hungry, I’ll eat.”

Adrian purses his lips, finally releasing his iron grip on the edge of the table.

He grabs both of the coffee mugs instead, giving me his back as he walks over to the counter.

There’s this big stainless steel contraption there.

He fiddles with it, and after a couple of tense minutes full of awkward silence, he comes back with two steaming cups of coffee.

He gives me one, putting the other down next to his plate. Sitting down again, leaning lazily into his seat, he nods over at me. “You said one of the meals had to be breakfast. Count this as one of them. Now eat.”

I figured that was his idea when he knocked on my door. And, to be honest, it looks pretty good.

Using my spoon, I scoop some of the eggs onto my plate. I swap the spoon for a fork, spearing two pancakes and adding them beside the eggs. Once I pour some of the syrup on top of the pancakes, I grab the tiny carafe of milk I just notices. A splash added to my coffee and I’m ready to eat.

Adrian, though, simply watches in approval as I make my plate. His own stays empty. He does pick up his coffee, blowing away the steam before taking a tentative sip. He nods, then sets it down again.

My fork hangs from between two fingers, hovering in the air. I waggle it at him. “You’re not going to eat?”

He’s not a morning person. Never has been in my experience, and I guess that’s something else that hasn’t changed about him—and he confirms it with his response.

“Normally, I get something on the way to the office. But this is special… our first meal as husband and wife. I got up and cooked.”

He nods at the pile of dishes in the kitchen sink.

I scoff. “I hope you don’t expect me to wash those.”

I had a roommate once. We had a pact: if we share a meal, whoever cooks doesn’t have to clean. I’d do the same with my real husband, but as far as I’m concerned, Adrian is just my business partner.

That’s the conclusion I came to last night before I finally fell asleep. Most arranged marriages are really glorified business mergers, only instead of between businesses, they’re between families. I’ll do what’s expected of me, but emotions? Feelings? Love? They have no place here.

I might not hate him the way I wish I could, but that doesn’t mean I have to love him. At most, there can be a common interest in surviving the Order and that’s it.

And kisses, I guess. I’m still not quite sure how I got roped into having to kiss him whenever he wants, but if that will keep smoke out of the house… I guess I can tolerate it.

The way he answers me makes me think we might be on the same page; at least, when it comes to me being his servant.

“I have a cleaning woman who comes in every other day. If I don’t get to them before I leave, she will.”

Oh. I mean, I guess I didn’t really expect him to take care of this huge ass house on his own. Plus, the Hellers have always been mega loaded. He grew up on nannies and governesses and a private chauffeur until he got his license. A cleaning woman would be standard, huh?

Still, I can’t help but choke a little on my swallow of pancake at the thought of another woman walking around this house with Adrian in it…

Don’t be jealous, Loni. You have no right to be jealous?—

I swallow the lump of pancakes. Then, in as casual a tone as I can manage, I ask, “A woman?”

“Yes. Mrs. Gammond. You remember her, don’t you?”

Actually, I do.

The entire year of our affair, we had to find ways to be together without anyone seeing us. Sneaking away to my house was a no-go. My father’s house is positioned in a cul-de-sac full of Owed families. We would’ve been spotted almost immediately if I brought him home.

But the Hellers had a secluded house on the outskirts of town. His parents were rarely home, either, so it was easy to use his bedroom when an empty classroom at school or the bleachers behind it weren’t available.

I can count the number of times I ran into his parents on no hands because, yup, I never saw them any of the times Adrian let me into his home. But Mrs. Gammond? A kind woman in her early fifties back then, she was the Hellers’ housekeeper.

“Yes.”

“I poached her from my parents when I moved out. I doubled her pay, and she works half the time. It was a beneficial arrangement for the both of us. She’ll do your laundry if you leave it in the hamper, and tidy up your room.

Other than that, she’ll give you your space while you get used to your home. ”

Home .

This is my home.

I’m not going back to Bridgewater. I mean, I already knew that.

I mailed my key back to the landlord two days after I arrived in Harmony Heights and paid the rest of my lease out of Dad’s account to apologize for breaking it so soon.

Technically, I had a stipend from work because I moved there to be close to a couple of our clients, but since I also contacted my boss about a family emergency that drew me back home, I didn’t want to use the firm’s money anymore.

I’m just lucky that they let me return to full-time remote work while I ‘take care of my dying dad’.

Hey. It’s not a lie. That’s exactly what would’ve happened if I stayed in Bridgewater against the Order’s wishes. Now that I’m here and doing what’s expected of me, he’ll make a miraculous recovery, but for now… my Dad’s health very much depends on this marriage with Adrian.

Partnership, I remind myself. And if I’m going to make this work until I can find a way out of it—especially since ‘til death do you part’ gives me a little wiggle room, and the life of an Owed is a lot more dangerous than I once thought it was—there need to be some rules.

We set some last night. Mainly because we discussed some of the Order’s laws, but I’m ready to set some of my own.

So, in between bites of a breakfast that tastes better than it has any right to, I tell Adrian, “I want to keep my job.”

“If it’s about money?—”

It’s not.

There is money in belonging to the Order. The Hellers, being one of the founding families, are loaded with a capital L. My dad is more than comfortable. I don’t have to work, but I like the idea of having some independence while I’m playing the part of Adrian’s wife.

I don’t tell him that. That would make him fight against me just because I want it so badly.

Instead, I say, “I’m not going to just sit upstairs, waiting for you to remember that you married me. You have a job… you do have a job, don’t you?”

“I’m a financial manager.” A sly smile tugs on his lush lips. “All of the money in Harmony Heights goes through me.”

Figures. Our fondness for numbers was one thing we had in common.

It annoyed me to no end that, despite the two of us being in the same advanced math class, Adrian made it seem like I was a numbers nerd.

The teasing got worse when I beat him on midterms senior year, even though he bought me ice cream to celebrate my high grade—then fucked me in the alley behind the ice cream shoppe.

I shake my head, knocking out one of my few positive memories of my time with Adrian. “That’s what I mean. You have a job. I like mine, and it keeps me busy.” It allows me to be independent. “If I can work from here, I want to keep it.”

“Done,” announces Adrian. “I have a study on the third floor that’s my workspace from home. I can give you one of the spare rooms next to it to set up your own office. I’ll stay out of yours if you stay out of mine.”

I can do that. He told me during his tour yesterday that there were a few spots in the house that he preferred I didn’t go to unless he was with me.

The gym in the basement was one; the study on the third floor was the other.

Considering my imagination still had blood on the mind and I conjured up some Bluebeardesque room full of Offerings he sacrificed to the Order, it’s a relief to know that they were as mundane as his private work area and his testosterone-fueled playground.

“Great. And I was also thinking?—”

“Hang on there. I know what’s going on here.” He leans back further into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “You want to establish some more rules between us.”

Took him long enough.

I nod. “I think it’ll help this… arrangement between us.”

“The word is marriage, princess. Say it with me. Marr-iage.”

Dick. “Arranged marriage,” I add, enjoying the fleeting annoyance that flashes across his face. “And I still think we need to set rules if we have any chance of making it work.”

“I distinctly remember you trying to do that once before,” Adrian reminds me.

“Something about telling me I needed to wear a condom when we were both virgins in the beginning and not fucking anyone else. And when I got you to see my point, you changed it so that I couldn’t come in you.

” He chuckles softly. “As if I’d waste a drop of what I had when it belonged to you. ”