Color.I get to wear color.
Last month, Elliott took me to a gala, and I chose a blue dress to wear because I thought it made my eyes pop and I felt pretty in it, but when I got home that night, my father beat me for choosing it.
You only wear white.
But not anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I like white, and I look good in it, but I can’t wait to try so many other colors.
After I manage to wiggle my way out of the dress, practically dislocating my shoulder to reach the zipper, I lay it carefully over the chair that sits in front of a small desk and then cross to the attached bathroom.
I don’t know who designed this house, but they should win some sort of an award because everything is just so ...stunning.But it’s not over the top. It’s not in your face like the opulence of my father’s house, where he’s all about showing off how rich he is.
That’s not this house.
It’s ... lovely. And although enormous, it’s also homey.
There’s a deep freestanding soaking tub that I’ll be taking a dip in later. The double vanity is marble, the shower is big enough for a party of six, and all my toiletries are already here.
Opening drawers, I discover that my makeup, my skin care,everythinghas been transferred to this house and put away, as if I’ve lived here for years. As if little elves went into my bedroom at my father’s house and magically moved it all here.
How in the world did he manage to do all of this?
I lift my gaze to the woman in the mirror and take stock. The bruises on my ribs have faded to a sickly green and thankfully aren’t as sore as they were a few days ago. Hopefully, Julian isn’t repulsed by them, since there’s nothing I can do about them. My lip has finally healed enough that it doesn’t split every time I talk or smile and is easily coverable by makeup.
After I strip out of my underwear and pin my hair up, I take a quick shower, careful not to ruin said makeup, and take my time soaking in the hot water. When I get out, I slather on my lotion and then pad into the closet to pull on clothes.
But when I open the top drawer, I’m surprised to discover not just underwear and bras but lingerie too.
New, sexy things.
Lace and satin, with bows and clasps, and I can only deduce that this must be what Julian prefers. My stomach jitters at the thought of having sex with my new husband, but not in a horrifying way. Yes, the thought of sex terrifies me, but Julian has only touched me with gentle hands so far. I don’t think he’d be rough with me. He actually smiled at me earlier, and Julian is always so serious. So somber. His smile took my breath away.
And when he carried me over that threshold, I didn’t want him to put me down.
That’s new for me.
Not to mention, he held my hand during the entire tour of the house, and both times that he’s kissed me, he was gentle. So no, I don’t think he would be mean with me during sex. Honestly, I’m curious to experience it with him. Julian’s scent calms me and stirs something in my belly, makes my core ache in a way that it hasn’t before.
Perhaps I’m naive, and behind closed doors, Julian is into the whips and chains and all of the scary things I saw in the club that night. Because when it comes down to it, I don’t really know Julian Stavros at all. But I know how I feel when I’m around him, and I actuallywantmy husband to touch me.
With a nervous sigh, I pull from the drawer the white lace lingerie, a matching bra and pantie set with a garter belt and thigh-high stockings. Once I have them on, I look at myself in the mirror and have to admit, I look damn hot, bruises and all.
Grabbing the heels I wore for the wedding, I slide my feet in them because they match the outfit, turn to see my backside, which is not covered atallthanks to the white thong I have on, and my ass is on full display. And then I wrinkle my nose.
Because although I look like a woman who’s ready to get it on after her wedding, I feel like I might throw up from nerves.
I’m finally not panicked at the idea of a man touching me.I get to touchhim. I have to do things to him to satisfy him and make sure he doesn’t want to punish me.
The perfect wife is always available to service her husband’s needs.
And it’s our wedding day. I’d rather get this over with now so I can get on with it and not be afraid anymore.
So, dressed in my sexy bridal outfit, and trying my best to gather all of the self-confidence I have in me so I don’t embarrass the hell out of myself, I open the door of my bedroom and step out, listening. The house is quiet as I walk to the stairs.
If he has guards in the house, and they were to see me, I’d die from mortification.
But I don’t hear any voices, so I walk downstairs to Julian’s office. The door is open, and when I stop at the threshold, Julian’s eyes come up from his computer and then widen as he takes me in from head to toe.
My husband is stupidly handsome.
