Staving off my release is about as likely as stopping the goddamn sun from rising, so after a few hard pumps, I dig in deep and fill my bride.
Pleasure courses through me, and a single word slips past my lips. “Ivy!” I say it as a curse, as that’s what she is to me. A beautiful, sweet, deadly curse.
I stay in her long after my body has stilled, knowing what this really is.
A job.
Nothing more.
Never more.
I wrap my arms around my wife and lower my face to her neck, breathing in the tangled strands of her wedding hair.
Her sweet softness brings me a strange kind of comfort, but I don’t let myself linger for more than a moment.
Spent, I pull off the bed and gather my clothes. Ivy’s curious eyes follow me around the room, and I wonder what exactly she’s thinking. Is she counting down the days until she can pounce? Or is there a part of her that dreads what she must do?
Perhaps one day I’ll ask.
“Breakfast will be brought to you. Until then, you should have everything you need in this room.”
She blinks at me as though she doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Which I’m fine with. She’ll figure out what her life will be like soon enough.
Without another word, I exit the room, locking it shut behind me.
SEVEN
Ivy
Sleep never comes from me,and I lie awake throughout the night, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into until I allow myself to roll out of bed and shower.
Mother was right. I should have gone for an older man.
But it’s too late for that now.
The walls throughout the suite are painted matte black with red lacquer accents. It’s not a place any groom should take their bride, and yet, it’s where I slept alone.
After drying myself off, I root around the drawers, finding only thin silk camis.
Great.
Just fucking wonderful.
The door opens, and in steps the woman that greeted Mateo on the roof last night.
Tall, lithe, elegantly built. She could easily walk the runway in Milan or be the host of a high-end art gala.
I’ve learned from my training that these women can be very dangerous.
It wouldn’t surprise me if she and Mateo had a tryst at some point, and that my presence thwarts what progress she’s made with him.
Men keep women like her around to make their wives feel replaceable, reminding them not to fall out of line.
“You will take your breakfast at 7 a.m. each morning,” she says as she crosses the room and sets the tray down on a desk.
“I don’t care to eat so early,” I reply.
With a dour expression, she says, “It doesn’t matter what you care to do. Mateo speaks through me, and it would serve you well to listen.”
