Clutching my glass in my hand, I wandered away. I didn’t want to listen to anymore of their gossip and snide remarks. Really, it didn’t matter what they thought or said, especially when they were true.
If it had been Violet waiting for me, I would have never left her alone. I would have been on my knees worshipping her like a goddess, because to me, she was one.
Even if she had torn apart my heart and stomped on it, Violet was and always would be the only woman I loved, and it should have been her I married.
Love.
It was such a horrible word. It made a man weak. And I would never be weak again.
Finding a seat tucked away in the corner, I watched as the remainder of the guests began to slowly dwindle. No one came to speak to me, and I was glad of that because I didn’t want to speak to anyone. My mind was racing.
Half an hour later, I’d had enough and headed back up the stairs. No one stopped to speak to me, and I moved through the now-quiet house like a ghost. Pushing open the bedroom door, I leaned against the door jam and stared at the figure in the bed.
Amy was asleep, her hair wet and piled on top of her head, leaving the pillow damp. Her face, clear now from tears and makeup, was slack and relaxed with sleep. She looked stunning like that. Natural and pretty. Her lips half parted as she slept.
Deep inside of me, something urged me forward and told me to strip and climb into the bed next to her just so I could hold her through the night. I knew she would like that.
But I couldn’t. Even if it meant it made her feel easier, I couldn’t do it. After all, it shouldn’t matter to me whether she wanted to be held or not.
Now, if she had been Violet, even if she had looked a tiny bit like Violet, I wouldn’t have been able to help myself. But they were complete opposites, and that was a good thing, I told myself, because it meant I would never fall in love with my wife.
Closing my eyes for a second, I sighed, and when I opened them again, the sight of her almost took my breath away.
She wasn’t Violet, I reminded myself. She wasn’t Violet, and she never would be. Closing the door softly, I headed towards my office. I would sleep on the sofa in there tonight.
It would be uncomfortable, but it had to be done because I could never love Amy, and she didn’t deserve to have false hope that I ever would. She was my wife in the eyes of the law, but that didn’t mean I could ever love her.
My heart would always belong to another.
Chapter Ten
Amy
“Good morning, Amy.”
The voice was unmistakably my new husband’s, and my head snapped around to find him through the open doorway of what was clearly a dining room.
Blushing, I headed in that direction, my bare feet taking the last few steps downstairs slowly. He wasn’t even looking at me, and had gone back to eating his breakfast, so why was I blushing so much?
Maybe because it was embarrassing to face him after the things he had done to my body last night. The things he had made me feel and still feel weren’t something I had ever felt possible, and there was still a dull throbbing ache between my legs.
When I had dreamed of my first time with a man, it hadn’t been like last night had been. He had hurt me and pleasured me, and I was totally confused about the whole thing.
“Good morning.” My voice shook.
“You may sit and eat,” he motioned to the chair opposite him without lifting his head to look at me, and I scrambled into the offered chair.
“I didn’t know what you like for breakfast, so I ordered my usual.If you would like something else, you will have to tell the staff.” He sighed, flicked his eyes up to me, and then with a scowl, went back to eating, like looking at me somehow disgusted him. “You will need to take the next few weeks to learn how to run the house. I guess menus would be the first thing to manage. They know what I like, but you are welcome to add things you like also.”
This time, when he looked at me, there was more than disgust in his eyes. It was a look I couldn’t hope to understand.
“What do you want for breakfast? You aren’t eating. Why aren’t you eating?”
For the space of ten whole seconds, I mulled over what I could say. “I don’t usually eat before work. Just coffee for me.” I flashed him a smile. “Thanks, anyway.”
“What do you mean work?”
“It’s—well, I am on the schedule.”
