12. Life

TWELVE

Asatisfied smirk finds its way to his face. "We will share at least one meal together in here every day. Most likely it will be dinner unless I have a meet I can't miss, but the two of us will eat and talk. Get to know each other."

"Isn't that something you do before you get married?" I mutter, placing down my fork.

"There you go. The first thing you can learn about me is that I never do what anyone expects."

I glance over at the cot he has set up on the other side of his bed. "You mean like bringing that in here?"

"You're getting it. You see, after I spoke to my sister last night, she made a very valid point."

"That you shouldn't expect the woman you threatened into marrying to want to fuck you right away?" I say sweetly.

Surprisingly, his eyes light up in amusement. "That I should expect you try to smother me with my pillow first chance you get if I push the issue."

Huh. Smart sister. She probably will never get over watching her older brother get head—because if I wasn't an only child, that's something that would scar me for life—but at least she has a lot more sense than Damien does. "Okay. And?"

"I gave you a choice last night. Marry me or go to prison. Obviously, you said ‘I do'. This? This is another choice."

"Choice?" I echo, even more suspicious than before. No way he's saying that he gave me a bed of my own… right? "What do you mean, choice?"

"I'm not just going to make you sleep next to me. And I don't mean sex, either. I mean giving you somewhere to sleep that isn't the floor. So I arranged for a separate bed for you."

I wrinkle my nose at it. I shouldn't when you take into consideration what the bed in my apartment is like, but he has this bougie king-sized bed and I get a cot? "A dinky twin on a metal frame?"

"Of course. I didn't say it was a good bed. I want you to join me in mine, Savannah, and why would you do that if I gave you one just as comfortable? It is better than the floor, I assure you."

I guess we'll see about that.

Once breakfast is done, he takes the tray out himself, leaving it in the hall by his door. After checking his phone for the time, he announces, "I have to go. But you? You will stay here."

I assume he means in this bedroom. Thankfully, with the en suite bathroom right there, and the television mounted to the wall over the dead fireplace across from his bed, I have a toilet and entertainment. No phone. No computer or internet access, but at least I'm not left alone with just my thoughts.

And now I have my own bed to lay in, I'll be a little more comfortable than I was last night.

Still, I don't want him to think I'm happy about being made his prisoner. "For how long?"

"Hmm?"

I know he heard me. "I said, how long do you plan on keeping me here?"

The joke's played out. If he thinks he can keep me here against my will only because he blackmailed me into that fake wedding BS? That's fucking kidnapping. And, yeah, I doubt Mr. Dragonfly here gives a shit that he's breaking the law. But does he really want to be responsible for me?

He thinks I agreed to this meaningless truce between us while we're in this room. Hell, no. Once I accept that I have no choice of surviving being Damien Libellula's wife, what's to stop me from smothering him in his sleep? Using my goddamn panties to strangle him. Waiting for him to let down his guard enough that I can get close, get that knife, and finish what I started?

I might be a dead girl walking, but his days are numbered. He's nowhere near as smart as the Springfield rumor mill suggests if he doesn't realize that.

Then again, how much do you want to bet that he does? He does know, he just doesn't care because he's so sure that I'll never be able to get a jump on him again, he's already plotting some kind of insane future where I stay his wife.

Because I see it in that same glint. He doesn't answer my question, but he doesn't need to.

How long will I stay here?

Forever… or until death do us part, which is the one I'm banking on.

"Instead of answering any more of your questions, wife, I think it's time you finally answer some of mine."

Um. No. I don't think I will.

"Where did you get the gun? The one with the snowflake on the bottom that Vin found in your purse."

I fucking knew it! "Dunno."

"Okay. Let's try this one on for size. Why have you been following me? I've noticed it for months now. You have to have a reason, especially since you tried to gut me during our first interaction. Care to explain yourself?"

Through tight teeth, I grit out, "Not. Really."

He's not done.

"How long have you been in Springfield? It seems like you just appeared… where were you? Alabama? The Carolinas? Georgia?"

It takes everything in me not to react. I don't answer, either.

Damien rises up from the metal chair. Bracing his hands against the small folding table, he gives me a searching look. "Very well. We'll try this again later. When you decide to answer me?—"

I perk up. "You'll let me go?"

In my excitement, the accent slips again. For a moment, I think he's going to call me out on it, but he doesn't.

Instead, he shakes his head. "No. You belong to me now. That means I'll never let you go. But you'll like being my wife a lot better once I understand you." Letting go of the table, he gestures around the room that's a lot more home-y since I arrived last night. "And you understand that this? This is your life now."

It's not.It can't be.

Especially when I see just how insistent Damien is that I give in to this insanity.

After breakfast that morning, he left after giving me instructions on how to use both his television and his shower. He makes it a point to tell me that he isn't locking me in—mainly because the lock he has only works to keep someone out… and why the hell didn't he lock it before his sister came in—but that I shouldn't take that as an excuse to leave the room.

Does he have cameras? He refused to answer me. What about an alarm system? He just smiled. I even ask if Mount Vincent is going to be blocking the door again if I try to leave, and his answer to that was a sly twist to his grin.

I quickly wiped it off his too-handsome face when I pointed out that I'm still in the same clothes that I've been wearing since the morning before, and unless he wanted me to swim in one of his suits or put dirty panties back on, I couldn't see the point in taking a shower.

His lips thinned at the ‘dirty panties' comment, though I could see understanding dawning at the same time. He was finally getting it. I'm not just some stray he could pick up off the street, feed, and give a bed. I needed a little more than that.

He grabbed a pair of shorts from his drawer and t-shirt that still had the tags on it, offering them to me.

Hell, no. Those shorts looked like they could've been his underwear.

"I'd rather go naked," I sneered at him, giving him the perfect set-up.

He took it. Chuckling as he tossed the clothes on his bed, he told me, "I'd rather you go naked, too."

Of course he would. And if he was disappointed when he returned later than night and saw that I refused to change out of my old clothes, he didn't say anything.

He also didn't stick around after dinner.

I thought he was actually kind of being a nice guy. Like, he realized just what a dick move it is, forcing an unwilling woman to act the part of his wife, so he decided to hunker down in one of the many guest rooms that have got to be in this huge place. He did let the maid in to make my cot up with a sheet, a comforter, and a pillow before he left with the friendly older woman, and I thought he was giving me some space.

And then, after he insisted on sharing pastries for breakfast with me the next morning, I discovered exactly what he did while I lulled myself into a false sense of security that I could sleep on that cot without fear.

Nearly every bit of clothing I own was moved into his closet while I was knocked out. To do that, they must've been as quiet as the grave in order not to wake me up, but once again, I only came to with Damien at my side, clearing his throat before he risked his finger by stroking my cheek.

Up until I saw my clothes in there, I kept thinking this was all a joke. Especially since Damien's tone was almost teasing as he gestured at our outfits—mine a mish-mosh of whatever I could afford alongside his row of expensive business suits—hanging next to each other and said, "Does that please you, wife?"

Yeah. No.

I held it together until he made his excused about needed to tend to the Family before he left. That's when I dashed to the bathroom, throwing up my entire breakfast in the toilet. After he split the donuts I chose with me to prove they were safe just like he shared my breakfast yesterday, I know my sudden nausea has nothing to do with the food. Nope. It was the realization that Damien Libellula—on his own, or one of his cronies—was in my apartment, going through my stuff.

It wouldn't take much for them to get access. I left my purse in my car, but if one of the Dragonflies went back to get it, they'd have access to my wallet. The name on my ID might be fake, but my address is real. My keys were in my purse, too.

Did they see Orion? I've spent the last day and a half worried about him, but sure he was alright for now. I left him a full bowl of food and water, and there's always a toilet if he got extra thirsty. Food was a bigger concern, but while he'd be hungry, he could survive a couple of days.

I thought I'd be home by now. But seeing the lengths he went to to prove that I'm not allowed to leave… Damien was dead fucking serious. I'm stuck here forever.

And I can't do that.

Screw those wedding vows he made me saw. Forget everything he tried to push me into agreeing to.

Savannah made all of those promises to him; at least, he probably thinks she did. But you know what? I don't have to be Savannah. I can shed that identity as easily as I got rid of Georgia if I have to.

He warned me not to leave. Not to run. But so long as he doesn't have anyone guarding that door—and, as far as I can tell, he hasn't since the first night—it would be worth if to at least try.

For Orion, I think I have to.

Let's just hope I can pull it off and get the hell out of here before my ‘husband' finds out.