When I got to my house, drove up the gated drive, walked in the door, there was no family waiting for me, no pet to greet me. But my staff had turned on some lights. A fire burned in my home office/library. It felt like a home where a family should live. There were five bedrooms, six-and-a-half baths, and a large, private yard.
Yet only one man lived in it.
And I felt so fucking tired as I trudged up to my bedroom. I drank a scotch by myself, just sitting on the side of the bed. And thinking about Devi.
Thinking about the strange tension between us.
Not the sexual, chemical, magnetic-yet-adversarial tension that had always been there between us, and only amplified since we’d gotten married. But the tension of the last several days. Since her growing, tentative trust in me took a serious hit. Since that girl I had sex with in a video approached her and warned her about me.
I didn’t even want to admit how much it scared me.
How much it worried me that she might cut and run.
I didn’t want to admit to her that anything was wrong, that I felt out of control. But I was scared.
Maybe she was scared, too.
I knew that girl from the video had rattled her.
When I told her I had to put in an appearance in Toronto, that my mother was demanding it, she just looked at me with her deep brown eyes and said, “Be careful, Dane.”
Maybe she was worried about me, too. But that just made me feel worse.
I called her before I lay down to sleep. “I just wanted to make sure you’re safe,” I told her, like I needed that to be the reason I called. Like I couldn’t just tell her I wanted to hear her voice.
I knew she was safe. I knew my team would keep her safe. Our legal team was taking care of making sure that girl from the sex tape stayed away from her. And I’d left Darrell in charge of her personal security, with a couple of guys on call, to rotate in as needed. She had coverage, and she was living in the penthouse. It was secure. She was secure.
“I’m good, Dane,” she said. “How are you?”
“Good. My mom already likes me a lot better now that I’m your husband.”
She laughed a little. “Tell her I said hi.”
“Sure.”
“Are you okay?” she asked me. She sounded unsure. Like maybe something had happened and I wasn’t telling her.
I had no idea how I’d ever make her trust me. How I’d ever make herlikeme.
“Yeah, I’m just tired. Long day at the office. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
And that was it. I hung up.
Real fucking romantic. I was really acing this husband thing.
It’s not like I exactly had a great role model, though.
I lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. I just kept thinking about all the reasons she had for hating me.
Like how I’d walked into her agency and turned things upside-down. Made her worry about her job. I took control of her dream and twisted it, manipulated it, manipulatedherto get what I wanted. Used it to get her to marry me so I could save my reputation with my family. Because without her, I was afraid I couldn’t do it on my own.
I needed her. Not only that, I wanted her. And it was starting to fucking terrify me.
I thought about how I pretended that I didn’t want her like I did, even when I made love to her. And how I told her I could protect her, when I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to. That no one could protect her from someone like me.
And what a jealous dick I’d been about her and Shane.
