Instead it had taken another man’s mouth, my husband’s jealousy, and the eyes of a dozen other people for me to realize there was only one man my soul came alive for.
There was only one man who loved me so brutally it consumed me body and soul. And he slept on the other side of the door with an ocean of hurt between our shores.
When I woke, my mouth was dry and my throat scratchy. My chest felt like lead as I sat up slowly and padded into the bathroom. My nose itched, but it wasn’t until I swallowed that I realized I wasn’t just upset, I was sick.
Dizzy, I rummaged in the cupboard and found a thermometer. To my surprise, my temperature was over a hundred degrees. It was no wonder I felt awful. With shaky hands, I called Mrs. Greene and asked her to make up a spare room with a twin bed.
She arrived a half hour later and I unlocked the door for her, keeping my distance. She clucked her tongue as she made up a bed down the hall and propped me up against the pillows. The room was small and cozy with a gas fireplace in the corner. The bed was up against the window and through it I could see the soaked front yard, leaves piled in drifts around the fountain.
“Let me get you some hot tea and bone broth,” she said. “And I’ll bring some medicine to help your fever break.”
“Thank you,” I said hoarsely.
She turned to go, but I cleared my throat.
“Where is Peregrine?” I asked.
She shifted uncomfortably. “He was up early cleaning up a broken statue and supervising everything to make sure the house was put to rights. He had work so he left around nine, said he’d be back tonight.”
I nodded and she disappeared. I turned, nestling into the pillows as shame washed over me in a wave. Last night had been the most arousing and mortifying experience of my life and it had left me raw. I’d enjoyed it, I’d reveled in every second of being fucked in front of everyone right up until I realized my husband was using me to satiate his jealousy.
My God, we’d made a mess of everything.
I watched the rain fall. At some point in the afternoon, it turned to ice. Then it became snow that hit the wet ground and melted into nothingness. My eyelids grew heavy and my nose ached with congestion. Mrs. Greene checked on me again and gave me some more medicine. I thought she said something about having talked to Peregrine, but I was already asleep.
It was several hours later, almost evening, when I woke with a start. A pair of amber eyes hovered over me and there was a rough palm on my forehead. I blinked and pushed myself upright, my heart hammering in my chest. My husband sat on the edge of the bed with his face etched with concern, his brows drawn together. We gazed at one another and he brushed back my hair with a tender hand.
“I came as soon as I could,” he said. “Mrs. Greene says you have a cold.”
I nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
We gazed at each other for a long moment. Then, to my shock, he bent and laid his head in my lap. His fingers traced down my arm. We lay there for a while in total silence as he stroked my palm and traced the lines of my veins beneath the skin. There was an ache in my chest and a sweet, strange warmth. But I didn’t speak because I didn’t have words for this. Outside, it had stopped snowing and it was raining again.
“What happened to the statue you carved?” I asked softly.
“It’s in my studio. What did you want to do with it?”
“I don’t know. When did you start work on it?”
He nestled his head against my thigh, rolling onto his back. “The day we had brunch at your parents’ house. It was the first time I noticed how beautiful you are.”
I swallowed, my throat aching.
“I know you don’t trust me,” he said. “But I want you, Lia. I need you more than I need those fucking statues, more than I need anything.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“But I don’t think I can promise you change,” he said.
Was I asking him to change? I didn’t want a different man, I wanted Peregrine Calo and everything that came with him. His obsessive need to take it too far, his serpentine words, his hard and insistent desire that wrung everything from me and left me helpless. But if I wasn’t asking for change, what did I want?
“Why do you wish me milder? Would you have me false to my true nature?” he murmured. “No, rather say I played the man I am.”
His eyes were narrowed in thought.
“Are you quoting something?” I asked.
“Shakespeare. Coriolanus,” he said. “I’m paraphrasing.”