He’s so close I can see the individual lines around his eyes, the milkiness in his irises that comes from old age. I wonder how many pills he needs to pop to get it up. How many women he’s done this to before.
“I can be a good husband,” he says. “A generous lover. But it all depends on you.”
Before I can respond, he bends and his lips slide against mine. My eyes stay open as my nose is filled with the horrible scent of cigar ash and overwhelming cologne.
I’m so furious at the assault that I open my mouth and bite down hard on his lip.
The Greek howls in pain and springs away from me. Blood drips down his mouth. His tangy blood coats my tongue, but I don’t mind in this case. It feels like victory.
He glares at me furiously. The so-called tenderness has disappeared completely from his expression. He’s looking positively murderous now. “You fucking bitch!”
“What’s the matter, old man?” I ask triumphantly. “Got more than you bargained for?”
I see his hand coming for me and I brace myself. The hit is a cross between a slap and a punch. It’s as though he can’t make up his mind. The fact that he’s wearing a massive gold ring only makes the blow more painful, but I don’t give a fuck. It was so worth it to watch the bastard bleed.
My skin breaks underneath the slap. My own blood starts to trickle down my cheek.
“I’m never going to stop fighting you,” I snarl at him. “And I’m never going to give you an child. Count on it.”
“Oh yes, you will,” he snarls. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“There are some things that can’t be done,” I tell him calmly, “no matter how powerful you think you are. Sometimes, fate is stronger.”
He throws back his head and laughs. The blood dripping down his drooping jowls makes him look downright psychotic. Not that he’s too far from it, anyway.
“That’s what you’re hanging your hopes on?” he asks. “Fate? You really are a stupid child.”
I feel a stab of pain in my stomach, but I ignore it. I just grit my teeth, steeling myself against all the pain I know is yet to come.
“If you try and rape me, I will do much worse than that,” I say, gesturing to his split lip.
He shakes his head, the manic glint still glowing in his eyes. “Oh I have no intention of touching you now,” he tells me. “But when I do, trust me—I’m not the one who’s going to end up bleeding.”