Page 29

Seventeen

Maddie

When I was spending all that time trying to figure out how to make Adian truly pay for taking me into this marriage against my will, and while I was spending all the rest of my time worrying about this entire situation, I never bothered to stop and think about what day-to-day life with him was going to be like.

So far he hasn’t locked me in a dungeon, but it’s early days yet.

A single night and morning don’t dictate the rest of our lives.

Besides, if he wanted me on his arm at church and appearances are so important to him, he certainly wouldn’t leave any marks or fresh trauma on me only a short time before taking me out in public.

He’s sitting far too close to me in the backseat, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shut down the oppressive awareness of him.

His driver seems to know where to go, as they haven’t spoken a single word to each other since we got back in the car and pulled out onto the main road.

I can’t help the way my body feels permanently frozen in tension.

I can’t relax with him because I don’t know when the other shoe will drop.

I don’t know what he’s going to do with me…

or to me. I don’t know how much of a temper he’s got.

I know he’s violent, but he hasn’t aimed it in my direction. Yet. I’m just waiting for when he will. Is he one of those “leave the women out of the violence” types? One of those very few times when chauvinism actually benefits us?

My situation is finally fully settling in. The distraction of the wedding planning and all the people around us has lifted, and the veil of reality has been slowly pulled back as the background music on my life’s soundtrack has gotten darker, heavier, more foreboding.

It became even more apparent as we mingled briefly after church.

All the mobbed-up looking men in black suits with barely restrained violent energy, nodding to Aidan like he was the king.

He’s so young to be king. And I felt that too, that not everybody necessarily thinks he should be running things.

Maybe some of them preferred someone else was in charge, or hoped the power would be re-balanced and somehow shift to one of them.

Once again I’m back to… how is it “not exactly” the Mafia?

Is it that he doesn’t have an Italian name?

There are other mobs, after all. Russian mob.

Irish mob. The common denominator with organized crime seems to be men…

not culture. Is it that the organization is younger than some other more well-known crime families?

I give up on figuring this out when I feel the familiar weight of Aidan’s attention on me.

I turn toward him and decide to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Are you just bringing me out weekly for church like some kind of proof of life? Will you keep me locked in the house the rest of the time?” I ask, not wanting to know the answer but unable to stop myself from asking the question.

I put full snark into it to avoid showing the vulnerability I suddenly feel.

It doesn’t matter that he looks like some dark god, I resent him for taking away my freedom, and I want to know just how big or small my cage is. Where is the perimeter that I can’t cross?

“You’ll have use of a car and can go wherever you want. You just have to have your security detail with you.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course. Can’t let the little bird think she’s actually free.”

“I have enemies, Maddie. If you want to leave the house without me, you will have a security detail.”

“Fine.”

We’re silent the rest of the drive which is longer than I expected. I have no idea where we’re going, but “out to lunch” seems like it should be a short drive.

When the car finally stops, we’re at the beach. Aidan guides me down a boardwalk past some street performers and snow cone vendors. His goons—or our “security detail”—traveled in a second black SUV. They are a menacing presence looming a respectful distance behind us as we walk.

We reach a private pier and get on a small white boat. The boat takes us a few miles off the coast to a little island I didn’t even know was here, and on that island is a Michelin star restaurant I also didn’t know was here.

“They just opened a year ago,” Aidan says, by way of explanation of why I, Madison Prescott, would somehow not be aware of all the top dining venues in our region, or how this whole island could have escaped my notice for this long.

The goons stay outside, and I wonder if someone is going to feed them or if they already ate. It’s breezy out today and not oppressively hot, but they should still get to eat.

The restaurant is called Le Sel . The Salt.

And once I get a look at the menu, it’s evident that it isn’t just the salt of the sea air that explains the name.

The entire menu is filled with foods enhanced by various gourmet regional salts, including their crown jewel desert, a salted dark chocolate ganache tart with a hidden caramel layer featuring a local artisanal slightly-sweet pink salt sprinkled on top.

“I love salt,” I say when we’re alone. I don’t know why I can’t contain this enthusiasm, but I do love salt. I especially love when salty and sweet are mixed together.

“I know,” Aidan says, perusing the menu.

When the waiter returns we both order a breaded lemon-lime fish and chips dish. The fries have their own specialty salted dip. And we order margaritas.

“What’s your game?” I ask after the bread has been brought out.

It’s those rustic loaves on a small cutting board with an artisanal herbed butter.

I slice off a piece of the bread with the provided serrated knife and spread some of the butter on top.

Then I try not to look like I’m having an orgasm while I’m eating it because it’s even better than I expected it to be.

“My game? Feeding you?” he asks.

I stare out the window at the ocean. “I mean…” I don’t know what I mean.

I just need to know what’s going to happen and what he’s trying to make happen.

Is he genuinely trying to woo me or is this just the “nice part” of the cycle of abuse…

the part that makes women stay thinking they can get back to this part if they just figure out that one secret trick.

Not that I have the option to go anywhere.

I wonder what would happen if I just screamed help, he’s kidnapped me! Probably no one would do a thing. Or… He’s a criminal! He made me marry him ! It all sounds so dramatic, but it is dramatic.

“Maddie, to answer all your curiosity, I’m not going to lock you in a dungeon and make you wear last season’s clothes. The horror . I’m not going to starve you or feed you bread and water.”

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.