Chapter 15

Mia

Ares brought me back to the house last night after giving me a clean black shirt to put on in place of my drenched dress. We took the backdoor of the club, far from the crowd, and drove home in his suv. He talked a bit with Carter and Ash in the parking lot before we left, giving them directives for something. We didn’t talk the whole way home, the weight of what we had done hanging heavy in the air.

I thought this marriage would be a golden cage filled with loneliness and indifference. But Ares keeps knocking the walls down around my heart with a hammer made of trust and determination.

Could I handle it?

Was I too broken to give him the keys to my heart?

Or was I blinded by hope and seeing what I wanted to see?

I was holding on to my issues, their familiarity grounding me, helping me know who I was. I wish I were one of those girls going to therapy and making cute quotes on their social media, telling people to accept happiness and not let their traumas define them.

Only mine do.

They are me, and I am them.

And with Ares sliding through the cracks of my battles, I was starting to see the light, the promise of healing in and out of my body. My fingers tingle at the realization.

What would my life be if I didn’t have to fight for every meal? If I didn’t have to be afraid of coming home? Was I capable of creating such a life?

Tossing and turning in the sheets, I look at my husband sleeping, the morning light cutting through the velvety curtains. The many cuts on his chest, arms, and face were cleaned and stitched by the Doc who came and fixed him up when I was doing my skincare last night. This old man must have seen it all.

“Hi,” Ares says, his voice still sleepy and raspy like gravel. His green eyes open slowly, the light hitting him too hard for his liking. There’s a cut on his brow and one on his lips, but still, describing him as handsome would be the understatement of the year.

I smile internally because that’s the first time I find him…adorable?

Mia, stop it.

I like him.

I like my grumpy, dangerous, moody, control freak of a husband.

Sue me.

Our kiss last night is still haunting me, the softness of his lips and the roughness of his hand sending shivers down my spine and making my belly fill with butterflies.

“Hi,” I say softly, turning on my side to face him, my hand under my head. “It’s already nine-thirty, in case you want to go back to the club—”

“Nah,” he rasps, “I’ll go back in a bit.”

“Are you sick?” I hold back from touching his forehead as if he might have a fever from last night's fight. He chuckles, his voice low and thick, holding my heart in its grasp.

“We got somethin’ to do this morning,” he states as I look at him.

“We?”

“Well, it depends on ya, princess.” He shrugs.

“Are we playing charades? What are you saying?” I turn my palms dramatically to the ceiling. Sitting on the bed, the covers hiding his legs and displaying his bruised chest like a painting, I hold back from dropping my jaw and focus on his lips as he talks. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs, looking away.

“Remember when you told me about your parents refusing to send you to a specialist?” The energy in the room shifts like a bomb collapsing on the ground, destroying any sign of familiarity.

“Wha-what about it?” I murmur.

“I looked into it, and I found someone, a therapist, specialized in your condition. Read a lot ‘bout him and from patients who recovered after seeing him.” My heart quickens as my hands start to shake. “I called him and got him on the first plane I could.”

“Ares, wait—”

Glancing at his watch on his bedside table, he says, “He’ll be there in an hour.”

I stare at him like he’s just told me the moon was made of gold.

A specialist?

A wave the size of a building is crashing on me, pulling me apart and reminding me of all the times I thought there would never be a way out of this.

Ares had searched for a specialist.

For me.

My skin is tingling with goosebumps as drops of sweat slide down my back, the news taking me by surprise and making everything around me spin.

“Wh-why did you do that?” The words barely make it out.

His green eyes soften, serious. “Because it’s time, Mia.” His palm reaches out for my shaking hand, lacing his fingers with mine like a real couple would.

“When someone falls, you get them to the hospital and put a cast on it. And that’s it, end of the story. That’s the same for you, princess. You got somethin’ in ya you can’t heal by yourself. Like you’ve been walking all this time with an injured arm. It’s the fucking same. And it’s time you finally get the care you need.”

I want to say thank you. I want to hide in his arms and cry my heart out for his gesture. But the words stay stuck in my throat, unable to come out.

Because orthorexia has always been a part of me.

That’s all I’ve ever known.

Just like some days of your life define you, they become a part of your story of why you became the way you are. They hold the tale of your deepest scars, disappointment, and regrets. They shape you until you can’t dissociate them from you anymore. Until they become so entangled in yourself that any glimpse of hope pulling you away from it ends in denial, rejection. Your brain sticks to the script of the story you kept telling yourself over and over, as if you couldn’t evolve, change, as if you could never have the guts to do so.

Who am I without my eating disorder?

I open my mouth to protest, to say I’m not ready, that I can’t face this. But something about the way he looks at me stops the words from coming out.

Don’t tap out.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“I don’t know if I can do this…”

“It’s your call, Mia. If you don’t feel ready, I’ll send him back home. But if you want to try, he’ll be waiting in the living room,” he says simply, his hand reaching my cheek, stroking it gently.

“Why did you do this?” I whisper, shaking my head.

“I told ya—”

“No, why did you do this for me?” I take away his hand that strokes my cheek. Needing the lack of his touch to focus, to understand. Kissing me, that I understand. It was necessary. It was vital. It had become a need so strong, both of us were on the edge of collapse if we didn’t do it.

But this? This is next level. This is so close to… love .

Grabbing my arm, he pulls me closer, his manly scent invading my every sense.

“Why can’t you just accept it, Mia?” His voice rolls on me like honey.

“Accept…what?”I murmur, suddenly out of breath.

Turning his face on the side, he shuts his eyes for a second.

“You’re my wife, Mia, and I’m not spending a single more minute of my life watching you terrified to eat a fucking bite of food. Your parents fucked this up, but I won’t, not on my watch,” he states with a stern and grave face. “Now get dressed. We’re having breakfast before the session.”

“You’re staying?” I ask, confused.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I, I’m not sure, you have so much work—”

“Do you want me to stay?” he repeats.

I nod, silently, not knowing if I should be mad at him for forcing this on me but I’m just so grateful for his commitment to help me heal that I choose the second one.

“Good.” Grabbing my wrist, he turns it and leaves a hard wet kiss on the inside, my skin shivering at his touch, reminding me of last night.

“Now go get dressed. I’ll wait for ya in the kitchen, princess,” he orders with a wicked smile.

“Ares Malone, are you making me breakfast?” I choose humor over the stress of knowing that Larry won’t be the one making it.

It’s okay.

Breathe.

Ares will make something you like.

Ares chuckles, standing up, his black sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. The god of war himself, stretching his arms with muscles that ripple beneath his inked skin, cracking his neck with a smirk that sends all my senses on alert.

“Stop gawking at me, woman, and get your ass downstairs,” he orders, heading for the bathroom.

So bossy.

I shove the covers away and slip into a light blue maxi dress. Before I leave, I glance at my phone and see a missed call from Kiara. She must have wanted to know if the fight went well. I had talked to her about my fears yesterday but I forgot to keep her updated. Walking past the door, I text her quickly.

Mia : Call me back at lunch Kia, so much to tell you. Love ya 3

Ares

Business over women.

Always.

Always?

Always, but just a bit less today because for the first time in my life, I’m having breakfast at home, in my kitchen, with my stunning, smart-as-hell wife.

I checked my emails before showering, and Vox informed me about a new lead on Nero’s tracks. The fucker has been seen on the edge of our territory. We’ve put men on his tracks to find him and hopefully get him as soon as possible into the hand of Carter. Then, it’ll be a delight to get all the information out of him, cuts after cuts, teeth by teeth.

Such important information should make me head directly to the club after my shower but, having the doctor here for Mia changes the plan.

What did you use to say?

Business over women my ass.

No, that’s just a compromise. I’m not losing focus on my priorities. The club is above all else. This is just, um, a one-time setback.

No big deal.

None.

I step into my warm and inviting kitchen, the light of the woods outside invading the whole room.

Fucking beautiful place.

“Hello, sir,” says Larry, eyes wide, his white blouse immaculate, just like his hair and beard, rolling a dough for what looks like bread.

“Hi, Larry.” It’s been a while since I've seen him here in the morning. I step to the fridge and open the door.

“Do you know where Mia's list is?” I rasp as I look at the content of the fridge, so fucking full, the fresh ingredients almost spilling out of it.

“Yes, sir, I’ve printed two lists,” he points his flour’s covered hands to the side of the fridge, “and here, I keep this one with me, easier to move it around when I need to check.” He points to another one next to his dough. Larry’s been with me for years, he was my father’s cook and became mine right after dad passed away. Grateful to have him around, especially now. Kind of man who used to sprinkle pieces of advice to me when I was hanging out in the kitchen as a teenager wearing my first bruises from fighting with other teens for shits I couldn’t even grasp. The old man always kept a protective eye on me, so it was only fair for me to do the same now that I was prez.

“Thanks.” As I close the door, I take the list from under the magnet.

Favorite foods: fruits (except bananas) and vegetables (no potatoes), nuts (except cashews), non-fat dairy products and lean proteins, green tea.

Food to avoid: carbs like pasta, rice (except sweet potatoes), fat (except avocado, salmon), soda and any form of processed foods.

Wow. That’s a fucking lot of rules.

Running my hand in my hair, I notice Larry grin from the corner of my eyes.

“That’s quite the challenge you gave me, son.” He shakes his head with a smile. Now and then he likes to call me that and I let it slide. He saw me grow up and I get that calling me sir all the time isn’t always natural to him.

“Yeah, I know, but you’re doing great, Larry. I appreciate it.” I pat his shoulder for the first time. He nods briefly and I wonder if I got it wrong or if his eyes are getting watery or some shit.

The old man clears his throat, rolling the dough with intensity. “Mrs Malone's favorite foods are all in the first and second level of the fridge. I’ve come to notice Mrs Malone is rather fond of strawberries, yogurt, and oats.” He glances back and forth between me and the fridge with his brows up. Not very subtle, but I appreciate his help because he knows a man like me would rather get driven over than asking for help.

I nod and take out the ingredients before putting them in a bowl for her. Trying to display the strawberries in a way that would be nice while Larry glances at me, biting the inside of his cheek.

I’m so fucked, don’t I know it.

“Hey, Larry,” a sweet voice comes out of the hallway as Larry’s face erupts in a large fucking smile like he just won the lottery. “How’s the hydrangeas? Did you plant them with Dolly?”

I shake my head to the old man, wondering what the fuck this is about.

“We did, Mrs Malone. She really liked them, thank you for asking,” he says softly, his cheek flushed.

“I’ll, um, I'll go cut some herbs in the garden,” he stutters, wiping his hands and rushing to the door leading to the garden in the back of the house. Mia is moving around like a fish in water, rising on her feet to grab a mug. I step toward her and get it for her, my fingers brushing hers as I give her the mug.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, a little smile appearing on her face. “He had a date with a certain Dolly. They met at a gardening convention, it’s a whole thing and I’m living vicariously through him,” she says.

“Gardening? Really?” I furrow my brows.

“Yeah, I know. Lar is a super sweet guy, just had to learn to get to know him better. Now we’re besties!” She giggles, grabbing a green tea bag and putting the kettle on.

Lar?

How come I’ve never noticed this about him? And how come my wife makes the old man blush like a teenager?

Maybe I’ve underestimated Mia’s effect on my life.

If she does this to the people in our home, does it mean it also works on…me?

I gotta be careful, can’t turn into a fucking softy with her smiles and warmth all around me now.

Come on, who are you trying to fool?

“Is this…for me?” She points the bowl on the white counter, oat, and strawberries all over the fucking place, mixing with the yogurt as if someone had already dug a spoon in it.

I’m the President of a powerful MC club. I know how to hunt, chase, kill, torture, hide murders, and grease hands when I need to.

But making a cereal bowl for my wife? That I can’t even do correctly.

“It’s, Larry said, shit. It’s, um, he said you would like it.”

“Oh.”

“I can throw it and you can pick somethin’ else if you want—” Grabbing the bowl, I’m ready to throw the damn thing in the trash.

“No, no, it’s perfect.” She pulls a strain of red hair behind her ear. Her long hair is curled like loose waves, the silk of her blue dress revealing the shapes of her chest without it being over the top. She doesn’t even have makeup on. Stunning, so fucking pretty I could take a bite of her and never be satisfied.

“It reminds me of our wedding day,” she whispers, looking at her feet.

Nah, that won’t do.

Lifting her chin with my fingers, I take the opportunity to stroke her lower lip, reminding me of our kiss last night. I haven’t stolen another one from her since then, paralyzed between longing for more and accepting the truth behind it.

A four-letter word.

Four fucking letters eating me from the inside, tearing my black heart apart, making her the center of my universe, my greatest weakness, the target my enemies would now seek.

“You okay, princess?” Her lips part subtly at my touch.

She nods but something darker sparks in her eyes, something aching, spreading, consuming her. And fuck, I’d like to say I’m the reason behind it, but I know better. My girl is probably terrified of what we’re about to do after breakfast.

Get to work, what are you still doing here?

If she needs me, I can’t be a fucking mile away.

If she needs me, I need to be there to hold her dainty little hand and tell her I got her back.

It won’t take long. I'll be back at the club in no time.

I show her the stool. “Sit, I'll bring your tea.” She sits on it and fidgets with her perfect pink glittery nails.

“Could you give me the jar of lemon water in the fridge, please? Larry always makes it for me, I—” she swallows, “I have to have it first thing in the morning, otherwise—”

“Hey, you don’t have to justify yourself, here,” I tell her, giving her the weird blurred water. Could never drink that. What’s even in that thing? But whatever, she wants it, she got it.

“Thank you,” she whispers. I turn around and grab a piece of bread, spreading peanut butter and jelly inside and digging in it while still standing, my cup of coffee in the other hand.

Mia pours the lemon thing in her glass, then drinks it slowly as if she’s expecting it to have a magical effect on her. Then she digs in her bowl, checking each bite before eating them, just like on our wedding day. My chest aches at the sight of her, looking at her food like she’s about to poison herself. The kettle stops and I pour hot water in her mug.

My girl got her little routine all set up, she’s really settling into our home and the thought of it makes me stand taller. She may not admit it now, but this house has become her home as much as it’s mine. I sit next to her, both of us eating in a comfortable silence until a small knock echoes from the hallway.

“Mrs Malone, Mr Malone, good morning,” Maria says with a warm and composed smile. “Sir, the doctor is here, I’ve asked him to wait in the living room just like you asked.”

“Thanks, Maria, tell him we’ll be there in a sec”. Maria disappears, discreet, always here when I need her but never when I want to be on my own. Mia spoon falls on the counter, her fingers stumbling to get it back. I reach out and put my hand on her. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s, um, are you going to the club now?” Her chocolate eyes widen with worry.

“Yeah, figured I’d shake his hand and head out to let you both talk it out,” I explain.

“Ok-okay.” She nods, her head falling back like she’s swallowing tears.

“Hey, talk to me, what’s going on?” I urge, not getting this sudden change of heart.

“Could—no really, I’m asking too much of you, it’s—” she mutters.

“Mia, just tell me, princess.”

“You’re really convincing for a fake husband…that’s all.” Her voice breaks with sadness. Grabbing the side of her throat gently, I step closer, her little body still sitting on the stool as I force her to spread her knees to get closer. Then, because I’m just a man who’s been forced to back out for the last hour and my resolve is about to snap, I angle her to look at me and kiss her sweet pouty lips as tenderly as my roughness allows it.

“Is that fake to you?” I demand her, daring her to contradict me.

A trembling exhale escapes her lips. “I think, I think I’d like you to stay.” Her eyes grow watery. “But it won’t be pretty and—”

“I’ll stay,” I grunt, kissing her once more, showing her I’m right fucking here. Her hazelnut eyes widen, her hand naturally rising to my chest, as if we had always done this. Eating together, talking stuff out over breakfast. Like any normal couple. Pushing her bowl away, she stands and laces her fingers with mines.

“Ready?” I ask her, searching for any hint of panic in her face.

She answers me, nodding with a shy smile, “Ready.”