Page 6

S O WHERE WAS THAT AGAIN ?

Erin had kindly offered to escort me earlier, but I just as kindly said no. I'd like to see how well I've memorized the ins and outs of this place, and mm...right or left?

The hallways stretch before me like carpeted arteries through the heart of the mansion, all of them identical in every way save for the paintings adorning the walls. This hall is all about the impressionists, another hall is dedicated entirely to Kaws, and so forth.

My mind starts to drift while I consider which path will take me to the breakfast room. Because, you know, my husband is so rich, a dining room for all the major meals of the day is—what was that word he used again?

Oh, right.

Pedestrian.

I decide to take a right where the hallway branches, following the scent of fresh bread and coffee as more memories breach the surface of my thoughts. They have a will of their own, and they want to be remembered.

My mind says, forget, forget, forget.

My memories say, recall, recall, recall.

I told you, didn't I?

The man I married is driving me insane.

Waking up alone in my bed this morning was both a blessing and a curse. On the upside? I'm glad my husband wasn't there to hear me let out a blood-curdling shriek...as I realized that he's made me pass out in pleasure for the second time.

I'm younger between us, for goodness' sake.

So why am I the one lacking in stamina?

But on the other hand...

My hand clutches my heart as my steps slow to an uneven stop. The memory of last night floods back: my knees kissing the cold hard tiles, the taste of him on my tongue, and...

Sylvain .

His name is the most precious memory of all, and the fact that I know it just seems to change everything. I only used to see him as my king and captor, but with his name now etched in my soul...

He's become so much more, and it terrifies me to the point that I can't even make myself put it into words.

"Oh, there you are."

Erin comes out from the end of the hallway, her crisp black uniform perfectly pressed, not a silver hair out of place. She actually retrieves an honest-to-goodness pocket watch from somewhere within her jacket.

"Sixteen minutes and ten seconds."

What an ugly record, and so just like with all things ugly in my life, I let it sail past my head and focus on something else.

"Good morning, Erin."

"Bonjour, madame."

She points me down another corridor, this one lined with completed puzzles in frames, and vanishes as efficiently as she appeared.

Her directions take me to a sunlit room overlooking the gardens, and a lot cozier than I expected despite the casual display of porcelain plates, tableware in 24-karat-gold, and fresh flowers spilling from priceless Ming vases.

" Bonjour ."

I hate how my breath catches just by looking at my husband, who looks impossibly handsome in his navy blue riding jacket, tailored shirt, and jeans. But then he rises to his feet and actually pulls a chair out for me—

Oh no.

I rush toward him in concern. "Are you feeling well?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you're acting like a gentleman, and that worries me."

"Ah." Amusement gleams from the dark blue depths of his eyes. "I was wondering how long it would take you to call me out on that."

That's all he has to say, really?

I'd like to roll my eyes, but change my mind when Erin reappears, and the staff starts serving breakfast. It's one thing to provoke him in front of his security (I'm pretty sure they're the see-speak-and-hear-no-evil type), but it's another thing entirely to act like a shrew in front of the rest of his household.

"Shall we sit down?"

His courteous ways make me look at him suspiciously, but what do you know?

Monsieur Le Dernier is just as good as I am at acting like nothing's amiss, and he helps me into my seat like he's won the world's title for Best Husband Ever for consecutive years.

Too bad for him, but I'm not so easily distracted, and I wait until all the other ladies are gone, and it's just the two of us again.

Well, there's also his army of bodyguards, but they don't count.

"So..."

My husband turns to face me, and I'm momentarily distracted by the massive breadth of his shoulders. I'm suddenly reminded of how those same shoulders look naked, with water streaming down them as Sylvain rises from the pool—

"You were saying?" Sylvain prompts.

Oh, stop, you!

I clear my throat. "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Of course."

"Who are you, and what did you do to my husband?"

His eyes gleam. "So we are back to that again."

"Well, to be fair...I was just curious. I have a feeling you're rude to everyone, any—"

"Ah, but I am not."

What did he just say?

I look at him indignantly, but my husband only shrugs. "I am the epitome of good manners with other women."

I don't even notice planting my hands on my waist as I face him with a glare, our knees bumping into each other under the table.

"Now, see here, monsieur ..."

He may have the whole of Paris cowering from him as Monsieur Le Dernier , but I don't give a whit. From the moment he married me, he also became my husband, and that's why—

"You are my wife, Liana," Sylvain says quietly. "Other women can afford to look weak and helpless. But I will not allow it from you. My wife must be my equal in strength and courage."

—I'm secretly flattered at how he holds me in such a high regard.

"And you are that, oui ?"

"Yes, I am that."

"So what was it that you wanted to say earlier?"

"You already said it."

His security team is coughing again, and it's starting to bother me. Shouldn't Sylvain have them checked for asthma or something?

"I am a woman of strength and courage," I repeat, "and I just wanted to remind you of it."

"Ah."

Sylvain takes my hand across the table, and my heart flutters as he presses his lips to my knuckles.

"Outside this house, ma petite... our reality demands that you present a picture of fierceness. But within these walls, I want to spoil you every moment. Will you let me?"

"Absolutely."

The swiftness of my reply has my husband laughing softly, and my heart sinks.

Oh no.

It's my first time to hear Sylvain's laugh, my first time to see how it transforms his beautiful face, and I am mesmerized.

Pas bon. Not good.

The rest of breakfast is a blur. I think we must've talked of important things. I'm not quite sure. My world is still spinning off-tangent, the foundation of my existence shaken by the possibility that this early on...

No, no, no.

"Liana?"

His tone is sharp, his gaze narrowed, and my cheeks burn at having him catch me thinking of other things.

"What's wrong?"

I'm in love with you?

I love you?

I really honestly love you?

"Are you sure we're not related?" I blurt out instead.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"Your eyes, um, and mine."

My mother was right , is all I'm thinking now.

"Don't you think they're too much...alike?"

Pride comes before a fall, and I'd rather stick with this ridiculous line of argument than tell him the truth.

" Ah ."

His eyes start to glitter, and I'm not sure what to make of it—

"What if we are?"

—until he says that, and I have to remind myself that my husband is Monsieur Le Dernier, who is also notorious for playing with his prey before making them disappear.

And so I force myself to laugh. "Oh, please—"

"That's not the answer to my question."

"Because it's so silly—"

"Is it, ma petite? You know who I am. Do you really think incest is beyond me?"

"Stop it," I censure. "This isn't funny."

"Who says I'm joking?"

I think I'm going to be sick.

Sylvain leans back against his seat, and my stomach starts to churn.

"Liana?"

I slowly raise my eyes to his, and that's when I see the smirk curving over his lips.

Argh!

I fly toward him, the chair scraping across marble as I push away from the table. My fists connect with his chest, solid muscle beneath fine fabric, but Sylvain only laughs, the sound vibrating against my knuckles.

C’est agacant! How annoying!

I want to hit him again, not hard enough to hurt (I am no idiot to truly attack a man like him), but just enough so he'll know I am absolutely vexed. My fingers curl into a fist, but—

"No more," Sylvain says.

One yank, and I tumble into his lap, my skirt tangling around my legs, my breasts pressed against the muscular wall of his chest. And just like that, my mood swings from a fire-breathing dragon to a breathless little hussy.

"Do you not think it's time?" my husband purrs.

I look at him warily even as the heat and hardness of him overwhelms my senses. "Time for what?"

Sylvain covers my mouth in answer, and my toes curl hard. His lips are firm and warm, gentle and possessive, and I am utterly helpless against it.

Our first kiss as husband and wife, and it completely blows me away.

When Sylvain raises his head, there is so much to see in the dark blue depths of his eyes, a storm of emotions that I can't even begin to comprehend.

"I can never let you go now, tu comprends ?"

I nod slowly, because I feel the same way, too.

For better or for worse.

La mariée du monstre.

I am the monster's bride.