“Nemours.”
She nodded but said no more.
“Look at me, Scarlett.”
Maggie Beautiful plodded up the stairs then, a full glass of cranberry juice in her hand. “I can’t sleep,” she said. “The new Harlequin I’m reading has me in such a tizzy!”
I forced Scarlett into our room before Maggie Beautiful had the chance to rattle off specifics. She liked to share her new reads with Scarlett.
“Get your hands off me!” Scarlett hissed, slapping at me.
“You know what he’ll do,” I said. Scarlett had a heart, and no matter what I had done with the woman once upon a time, she wouldn’t want to see her dead. That was my cast of mind, not hers. Her grace was why the world called her Beauty and me her beast.
She put her hands up when she had put a comfortable enough distance between us. “I know,” she said. “But I—I need some time.”
“Time, ah? Time for what.”
“You know damn wellwhat,” she snapped. “And I do—I hate her!”
“You hate me too.”
“This second?”
“Yeah—forget I asked.”
She was more like Medusa in that moment, her hair coiled and plumped and wild. Instead of her face being softened by the flickering light, it had become severe, and her eyes seemed to burn a jealous shade of green.
Just a few steps and I could reach her, but the fact that she demanded that I stay away was making my temper rise. It was as if my heart demanded not to be a part of my chest.
Like a string unraveling backward, I could take the trip that led me to her father—the source of her irrational behavior. A trigger. Even knowing that, I couldn’t think straight when it came to her, and when she put layers or distance between us—
“How would you feel if I would’ve—”
“Don’t fucking say it,” I said, my voice low.
I had hurt her. She wanted to hurt me so much deeper. She could, with words alone.
Enough with the games. I shattered the wall she had built, the line she had drawn, invading her space.
“Don’t you dare! I need my space!”
“I just killed your fucking space.”
“Don’t touch me!”
I hated the disgust in her voice, the contempt. Still, I took her shoulders in my hands and crushed her mouth to mine. She didn’t relax but she stopped fighting.
“I am your husband,” I said, after I had released her mouth. “You are my wife. You can tell me how you want me to pleasure you, or how you want me to love you, but you will not deny me. Now forget and move on.”
She went limp. “It’s not that easy.” Her voice was close to a sob. “I’m jealous! I’m so jealous that I can hardly breathe!”
Then she started to pound on my chest, like some woman out of an old-time movie. I let her.
“You don’t know what it does to my head! I see your hands all over—!” She shivered and then hit me harder. “I can’t control it! I want to. But I effing can’t! It’s…gross!”
Jealousy was a fucking wild one, fair enough. Sometimes it made complete sense. Other times it was as puzzling as a jigsaw. Her instinct was to pull away, to shield her heart from the hurt it caused. Mine was to possess or destroy.
“Enough,” I said, shoving her against my chest. “Enough.” I wrapped my arms around her, forcing her even closer. “Forgive me, Scarlett. Say the words.”
