Physical things.
I've had sex before. Twice. Both times awkward and fumbling and over too quickly to mean anything. I never understood what the fuss was about. Never felt that desperate need other women described.
But I accepted that it might be part of this arrangement. That I might have to lie beneath a stranger and let him use my body to satisfy whatever urges he had. I made peace with that possibility before I ever walked down the aisle.
What I didn't prepare for was Bruno.
Not the wheelchair. That surprised me, yes. But I've moved past it. The wheelchair doesn't make him less dangerous. If anything, it makes him more so. A man who commands this much fear while sitting down? That's not weakness. That's power.
No, what I didn't prepare for was the way he looked at me.
Like I was something he wanted to devour.
Like I was something he wanted to worship.
I press my forehead against my knees. Breathe. In and out. In and out.
The thing is, I can't read him.
I've always been good at reading people.
But Bruno?
Bruno gives me nothing.
His face is a wall. His eyes are shuttered. Every movement is controlled, revealing nothing he doesn't want revealed.
Even tonight, when he stared at me like that, his expression never changed. His jaw stayed locked. His hands stayed still on those armrests.
Only his eyes moved.
Only his eyes burned.
And I have no idea what it means.
Stay out of his way,everyone said.
But I can't stay out of his way. I'm his wife. We live in the same house. Tomorrow night, we have to stand together in front of his family's friends and business associates and pretend we're a real couple.
How am I supposed to pretend with a man I can't read?
How am I supposed to play the dutiful wife when I don't know the rules of his game?
I push myself up from the floor. My legs are unsteady. The dress weighs a thousand pounds.
I need to get out of this thing.
The zipper is stuck halfway down my back. I reach behind me, twisting, pulling. My fingers slip on the metal.
"Come on," I mutter. "Come on, come on?—"
It gives.
The dress slides off my hips and pools at my feet. I step out of it. Kick it aside. Stand in the middle of the room in nothing but my underwear.
The mirror on the closet door catches my reflection.
I look... small.
