“Get out of my sight.”
“Uh… sir? There’s one more thing.”
“What?” Rokiades snaps impatiently.
“Dr. Lenore is here, sir.”
“She has answers?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“Good. Make her wait. I’ll talk to her after my meal.” Rokiades dismisses the guard with a wave of his hand.
The man slinks off immediately, but I continue to watch Rokiades. I don’t give a shit about his doctor, but the first bit of news I find intriguing.
“Something going on?” I inquire.
“Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“I’m interested,” I tell him. “I’m playing the part.”
“Then stay out of my affairs. They don’t concern you.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Precisely.”
“And yet you need me,” I point out. “Without me, you wouldn’t be able to do any of this.”
“I need nothing more than your pussy,” he retorts nastily with a leering smile. “After you give me an heir and a spare, you will be of no use to me. Heir and a spare. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“And if I don’t?” I ask the question calmly, but my chest feels tight with anxiety.
“Oh, you will,” he says with deadly calm. “Or you will die trying. There’s plenty of room in the graveyard next to my other wives, darling.”
I shudder at the thought. “Who’s this ‘one man’ your tough guys can’t seem to contain?” I ask, changing gears quickly.
Rokiades’s eyes flash to mine. “I thought I told you to stop asking questions that don’t concern you.”
“Who do you have?” I ask, ignoring him altogether.
He shoves himself away from the table so hard that his chair clatters back onto the sleek marble floor. He ignores it and keep his small, dark eyes fixed on me. “You will learn to stay silent,” he says. Then he leans in closer and adds, “Because if you don’t, I’ll just have to cut out that smart little tongue of yours.”
Disgust rolls through me like a tidal wave. I have no doubt he’d do it. But I act as though I’m unconcerned with the threat.
“Bah! Forget it. You’ve ruined my appetite,” he scowls. He turns and storms away from the dining room table.
I expect another nipple twist or a slap on his way out—both are par for the course these days—but he doesn’t do either. I raise my eyes from my lap to watch him vanish from the room.
But just before he goes, I realize something. A tiny little subtlety about his posture.
Rokiades is nervous.
Good. It means something is not going according to plan.
I look at the men stationed around the dining room. My own personal guard, four men strong. They’ve shadowed me everywhere. Which really hasn’t given them much to do, considering I spent most of my time chained to the bed in my room.
It’s gotten to the point where I actually enjoy the forced treadmill runs in the morning. I’ve always been athletic, always been a runner, so to spent most of my time on bed feels cruel and unusual.