Page 17 of Sweet Deception

He grunted. “I hate nagging women.”

“I’m not nagging. I don’t plan to stay forever.”

“And I don’t plan to keep you forever.”

“Then do it. Get it over with so I can go. Or are you unable to perform as a man?”

His expression darkened. “Touch and see.”

I boldly unzipped his trousers. He caught my wrist. “You are twenty years old, no?” He zipped up.

“I’m past eighteen, legal and grown. Why agree to my family’s proposal if my age is of concern to you?”

“The agreement was for your sister. You were merely a quick replacement.” He hissed. “I agreed to have you sent over because you are your mother’s seed too. You’re not just my wife, you’re her penance. I’ll consummate this marriage when I am willing. Until then. Continue to suffer in uncertainty.”

I slammed a pillow into his face. “Fuck you!”

“Language.” He growled.

“To hell with you!” I wanted to claw his face. How long would this psycho trap me? This wasn’t a marriage, it was a kidnapping.

“What if I demand a divorce?”

“You’d get it only in your fantasies. You belong to me. Preserve your energy for what’s coming.”

“I’m done. I’ll have to tell my family you aren’t keeping to your own end of the deal.”

“You are too trusting,” he said quietly. “Your father knows of Elisabetta's death. He’s furious, but he’s stuck in Italy, too scared to face me.”

“He's angry, and he'll retaliate for what you did to Elisabetta."

"You overestimate your father," he said, reclining as his eyes drifted shut beneath the sheets.

I stared at him, stunned.

My father was my only way out, strained ties or not. I grabbed my phone and called my mom. “Did you know Elisabetta’s dead?” My stomach turned to ice.

“Yes. Her head arrived in a package, signed by your husband.” My stomach lurched.

“Why didn’t Father want me to walk?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Her tone was vague, lying or resigned, I couldn’t tell.

“Gleb Romanov is not consummating this marriage. I’ll never escape this hell.”

“I’ll talk to your dad and we’ll see what we can do,” she said softly, then hung up.

I glanced at Gleb, still as stone, and muttered, “Demon.”

I curled beneath the duvet, my chest tight. The sheets smelled like him. Cold spice, danger, steel. I hated that my body noticed.

Then, the mattress shifted behind me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

A hand brushed my hair back. Calloused, too gentle for a monster.

“I killed Elisabetta to protect you,” Gleb murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it. “Don’t make me regret it.”