“Answer me, God dammit. Did this really happen?” she whirled on me, and I could see the next tantrum come to life in her pale eyes.
“Yes. She is my wife.”
“How many times?” she screeched. “How many times?”
I really didn’t know how to answer that question.
Reaching down, she caught up a paint pot and held it threateningly. I lifted my eyebrow. “Put that down, Violet,” I said coldly. “Before you make a mess.”
She just brandished it higher. Holding it above her head. “Tell me, were you making love with her and playing happy families while I was being used and violated. I thought you only loved me, you promised me,” she screamed.
The blood drained from my face. Had she just said she had been violated? It suddenly all made so much sense. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to tell me all the details because whoever had put a baby in her belly had raped her.
I was a bad man. I had literally been raised to hurt people to get ahead, but if there was one thing I hated, it was a man who took advantage of a woman. It was a deep-rooted hatred because it was exactly how I had come into existence, and I’d lost my mother because of it.
Rape had been the reason I was born and raised by my grandfather.
“Violet.” My voice dropped to an agonised whisper. “I am so sorry. What can I do?”
“Tell me, you will look after me. Just like you always promised you would, Alexei.”
“I will always make sure you and the baby are supported.
“And Amy?”
I cut her off before she could even finish the sentence. “Amy is my wife, and she will remain my wife.” Shaking my head, I wandered around. I was almost certain that I’d just heard the front door open and close, and I wanted to see if it was Amy.
I also didn’t want to continue this conversation if it were my wife. Screaming profanities, Violet launched the paint pot at the painting, sending red paint, the colour of blood, in a wide arch like arterial spray.
“You son of a bitch.”
Amy appeared in the doorway, her brown curls pulled back from her face, but a little windswept. The first thing I noticed was how pale she was. There were deep, dark smudges under her eyes like she hadn’t been sleeping.
“Amy, are you OK?” I took a step forward, ignoring the paint that made my shirt cling to me.
“What did you do?” Amy whispered, and at first, I was confused. What did she mean by that? But Amy wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were glued to the canvas and the woman standing in front of it.
It happened in the blink of an eye. The shocked expression snapped off her face and was replaced by a white-hot rage. I’d never seen my sweet little wife ever look like that before.
Before I could even blink, she launched herself at Violet, her feet slipping on the paint on the floor. Catching Violet around the waist, she smashed her to the ground. Violet screamed for me.
“What did you do?” Amy screamed right back and lifted her arm again. “Why do you have to ruin everything good?”
I caught Amy up around the waist and dumped her over my shoulder, locking her there as I rushed out of the room.
“Let the fuck go of me.” Her small hands beat on my back, and her booted feet kicked at my chest, but I didn’t let go of her until we were back in the room we had recently shared.
“You.” I pointed a finger at her. “Will stay here until you learn how to act like a lady.”
“She ruined the painting.” Her shoulders slumped.
“It was an accident, Amy.” I lied. “And even if it wasn’t,” I regarded her coolly “No wife of mine goes around attacking people. You need to learn some manners around our guests.”
“She isn’t my guest. She is yours,” she countered.
“That is true. She is my friend, and I won’t see her hurt. She’s been hurt enough. I don’t expect you to understand Amy, but I will explain when you have calmed down.”
Slowly, she lifted her head. “Oh, I understand, Alexei. She’s pregnant.”
