Eliott comes once a day, but I’m learning how to do my hair and my makeup. I like it. Though I still carry a bit of the fear in me that I’ll be rejected for how I look, I’m learning to let it go. Tomas helps with that. He worships my body morning and night, bringing me to heights of pleasure I never imagined.
I’m trying out new kitchen recipes, eager to please him. And he eats heartily, commending me on how well I cook.
But something is missing, and I’m not sure what. He’s distant and preoccupied. And though he pays attention to me—I mean, he doesn’t even take his eyes off me—he isn’t fully present. Will it always be like this?
Finally, several weeks after he brought me here, while I’m in the middle of preparing a roast for tonight’s meal, Tomas comes in the kitchen.
“Caroline, come with me,” he says. He hasn’t softened a bit. If anything, he’s grown sterner lately.
“I need a few minutes,” I tell him, as I’m still rubbing herbs and salt and pepper on the roast.
“No,” he says, in that tone that must be obeyed. “Now.”
I sigh, looking to Lydia. She quickly steps in to take my place.
“Go,” she whispers. “You do not want to anger your husband.”
But I’m the one that’s angered. I hate that he just marches in here and tells me to drop what I’m doing as if it doesn’t matter.
“I need to wash my hands,” I tell him. “You’ll have to wait.”
His eyes ignite, his body stiffening.
“Do so in our room.”
“Tomas, for goodness sakes.” How dare he just march in and order me around like this? This is my job. I’ve earned the respect of this staff, and I’m not going to just cow to him because he demands it. So I ignore him and head to the kitchen sink. “I’m not walking through these floors with germ-infested hands. Honestly!”
A look flashes across his face I haven’t seen since we got here. His brows draw together, his lips turn down, and a shadow darkens his features. “You have one minute,” he snaps. “And you’ll answer for your smart mouth.”
I stomp to the kitchen sink, feeling angry and justified,. Yvonne is standing by the sink. She’s been coming to help the past few days and is eager to learn. Her pretty eyes are wide and earnest. “Caroline,” she whispers. “Don’t push him. He got news today he didn’t like, and he’s in a mood over it.”
“Why does that give him license to boss me around?” I whisper back.
“It doesn’t,” she says. “But he’s the pakhan and you know what he expects.”
I pump soap into my hands and mutter under my breath. She only gives me a look of sympathy.
“Go,” she mouths, biting her lip. Grumbling, I dry my hands and leave. He’s standing in the doorway, glaring at me, and the entire kitchen staff continues to work in awkward silence.
“For God’s sake, lighten up,” I mutter, which might have been a stupid thing to say, because he grasps my elbow in response, spins me out in front of him, and slams his palm against my ass. The kitchen doors shut behind us, hiding my flaming hot cheeks.
“Tomas,” I say, wanting to absolutely die. I can’t believe he spanked me in front of all of them like that. “Your kitchen staff are my friends. You just humiliated me in front of all of them! I’ve worked to earn their respect.”
“Let’s talk about respect. You do not disrespect me like that in front of my staff,” he says, as if that gives him the license to publicly mortify me.
His face is a storm cloud, and he’s marching me down the hall so fast I can’t keep up.
My heart sinks. Just when I think I’m starting to love this man, to understand him, to become the wife he needs and he the husband I need, he pulls this domineering alpha bullshit. But my angry thoughts come to a halt when we reach our apartment.
Six armed men stand in front of our door. I recognize them as the strike force for his brotherhood.
Why are they guarding our door?
I’m immediately on guard. Something’s happened. What is this? No one ever flanks our door like this. It’s unusual. Disturbing, even.
But he isn’t surprised to see them. “Clear?” he asks them.
“Yes, sir,” the tallest one says. “We’re to stay here until you give us further notice, is that right?”
“Precisely.”
He opens the door and ushers me in. “Out of your clothes. Go to the bed and hold the post.”
I blink in surprise.
“What?”
Without a word, he reaches for my arm and pulls me to him. Grasping my face in his hand, he pinches my cheeks.
“Clothes off. Bed post. Is that clear?”
I’m shaking when he lets me go. Usually his dominance and my submission are a sort of dance. He leads and I follow. It’s hot as hell, and our lovemaking recently has explored the depths of where this could take us.