CHAPTER 10
SEBASTIÁN
I walked into the kitchen to find Isabel hunched over the large, marble-topped island, her slim frame perched on a padded white leather bar stool. Her face was buried in her delicate hands, and she let out a soft groan. I noted the half-empty glass of water beside her, as well as the bottle of aspirin.
“Hangover?” I asked, already knowing the truth. She’d been drunk out of her mind last night. Drunk enough to kiss me only moments after fearing that I’d rape her.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have kissed her. I’d seen the fear in her remarkable eyes, and something inside me had snapped. The need to hold her had been a compulsion, not a conscious choice. And she’d melted in my arms. She’d offered herself to me.
She’d tried to touch me…
I gritted my teeth and forced the haunting memory from my mind. I couldn’t bear her tender touch. It was hard enough looking into her caramel eyes. I’d never allow that to happen again.
“Go away,” she moaned into her hands, distracting me from my dark mood.
“I’ll make breakfast for both of us, then.” I crossed to the enormous fridge and checked its contents. I might be a bachelor, but I knew how to cook, even if I had only mastered the basics. I knew how to take care of myself.
This morning, it seemed I’d be taking care of Isabel too.
I grabbed everything I’d need to make a half-decent breakfast and cast a glance in her direction. She seemed more delicate than ever, her skin unnaturally pale and her limbs trembling.
“I shouldn’t have let you drink so much,” I mumbled, hunting through the cabinets for a suitable pan. This kitchen was enormous enough to operate with a full catering staff, but I supposed it was too early for the cook to be here; it was barely dawn.
“Let me?” she demanded, her head lifting so her eyes could narrow on me. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean you can control every little thing I do.”
I shook off the barbed comment. “I have no interest in controlling you.” I ignored the taste of the lie on my tongue, pretended I didn’t remember how good it’d felt to spank her pert ass and feel her surrender.
She barked a hollow laugh, then cringed as the sound jarred her aching head. She buried her face in her hands again, refusing to look at me.
Good. I preferred it if she didn’t look at me. I could think more clearly when I wasn’t trapped in her bewitching gaze.
Fuck, was this going to be my life now? Avoiding my young, beautiful wife so that I didn’t have to be tormented by my darkest memories every time I looked at her?
My fingers firmed around an egg, and it shattered in my grip. I cursed and shifted my hand over the mixing bowl just in time for the ruined yolk to ooze into it rather than smearing the gray marble countertop.
I took a breath and focused on my task, doing my best to pretend that this was a normal day in my normal routine. It would be a lot easier to fool myself if it weren’t for the fact that this kitchen was at least five times bigger than my own. And if I hadn’t felt Isabel’s presence at my back like a tingle on my nape. I was keenly aware of her eyes on me, even if I wasn’t looking directly into their tawny depths.
A second egg smashed in my fist.
I sucked in a breath and hastily cleaned the mess. Still, she said nothing. I said nothing. We both pretended like the other wasn’t there at all.
I wondered if she was failing as miserably at pretending as I was.
Neither of us wanted this marriage, but we’d have to get used to each other. Maybe we could do a better job of avoiding one another if I learned her routines. Then, I could pattern mine to be the opposite.
“So, what do you usually do with your days?” I asked as casually as I could manage, keeping my eyes fixed on the eggs in the pan.
“Why do you care?”
My shoulders tensed at her animosity, and I replied through gritted teeth, “Can’t we have a civil conversation?”
I didn’t tell her that I was trying to figure out a way to spend as little time in her presence as possible. Women could be sensitive about statements like that. I knew from experience, and I didn’t feel like fighting with her right now.
“I like to read.” She flung it at me like a challenge. “So, are you going to give my e-reader back?”
“You have paperbacks. I saw them in your room.” I wasn’t giving her access to anything that might connect to the internet. Not yet. Not until I knew I could trust her.
“I’ve read those already.”