She’s barely covered with the sheet, giving me a perfect view of her round ass in a short, cream-colored nightgown.
Tearing my gaze from her, I open the curtains and the window, letting fresh air and sunlight in. She groans softly, burying her face deeper into her pillow.
“Not hungry,” she murmurs.
I approach the bedside, looming above her. “Good morning, love. Miss me?”
Her eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t wake up fully, doesn’t move much like she usually does when I startle her. Instead, she turns to the other side, giving me the cold shoulder.
“I heard you haven’t been eating. Care to tell me why you’re being a brat?”
When she keeps silent, it makes my blood boil.
This isn’t like her at all.
“I asked you a question. Two, in fact. Answer me or see what happens.”
“Fuck you,” she says, pulling the covers up to her neck so I can no longer see her.
Fine, then. I wrap my arms around her—one under her knees, and the other around her back—and drag her into me as she yelps. I lift her up, cradling her at my chest, sheets and all. She tries to get away, pushing into my chest, but my hold is firm, and I’m not letting her go.
“What the hell are you doing?!” she shouts when I put her down in the shower. “Leave me alone!”
I flick the tap, knowing full well the water will be ice cold.
“Fuck! Wolfgang, what thefuck!”
The water pours down on her, making the sheets stick to her body, soaking her.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” I say, peering down at her. The look on her face is murderous. It makes me want to laugh. She’s so fucking beautiful when she’s mad at me. “Be a good girl and get ready for the day. We have things to do.”
“I’m not doing anything with you!” she seethes, standing. “You can go crawl right back where you came from.”
“I’m not asking, Victoria. If you’re not going to do it, I’ll clean you up myself.”
She scowls, and I stare back, my brows raised in anticipation.
“Get out.”
“You have ten minutes.”
I walk back into her room, suddenly remembering the glass shard she stabbed me with. Where did she get that? No mirrors are broken, so I open the drawer to her vanity desk, looking for answers. And sure enough, a makeup palette of sorts has a shattered mirror attached to it. Clever girl.
I make a mental note to take anything like that away from her and wait until she comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped tightly around her body, wet and rosy from the hot water.
She doesn’t spare me a glance before disappearing into the walk-in closet, slamming the doors behind her.
Minutes later, she comes back out, wearing a yellow mini dress with spaghetti straps that molds to her torso and flows along her waist. Flat sandals cover her feet, which she’s keeping hip-distance apart as she stares at me with her arms crossed.
“Beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. “Your hair?”
“I don’t care. It will dry,” she answers with a bite in her tone.
I nod once, and extend my hand out toward the door, signaling for her to step outside. Hesitantly, she uncrosses her arms and goes out into the hallway. I’m right behind her, and I take her hand to guide her. She doesn’t expect it.
I’ve been holding her by her neck up to this moment, wanting to show her I own her. But today, I want her to feel comfortable. A bit of light in the dark tunnel she’s been trapped in since I brought her home.
I don’t know where the fuck that thought is coming from. It makes me angry, but so does not going through with it.
