CHAPTER4
Leon
The despicable things we do for money are only surpassed by the despicable things we do for love. In my case, it’s more of an obsession, but it’s still a curse. Violet has already made an animal out of me. Now she turned me into a monster with her cruel betrayal.
When I come back downstairs after my shower, my deceitful little fiancée is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping herbal tea. I’m surprised to find the money I left on the table gone. I didn’t expect her to take it. I expected outrage, maybe even hoped for it, but what I get is infinitely worse. Politeness. I much rather prefer she gives me the silent treatment. A cold shoulder implies she’s affected, that feelings are involved. But after what she did, what did I expect?
“Hungry?” I ask, burying my head in the fridge.
“No.”
Too tired for cooking, I take out a carton of eggs. “Did you have lunch?”
“No.”
I carry the eggs to the counter. “You should eat.”
“I will when I’m hungry.”
“Every meal,” I say, giving her a reprimanding look. “Your health is not negotiable.”
She doesn’t reply. She simply drinks her tea while I fix an omelet as if we didn’t just have hot, dirty sex at that very table. It’s not that she’s pretending it didn’t happen. She’s simply accepting it did.
We eat in silence with me serving and she saying thank you. Neither of us broach the elephant in the room, that tomorrow will be one of the most important days of our lives. It’s supposed to be a highlight, but by my own doing, it stretches ahead like a major letdown.
I want her again, but I don’t act on the need. If I do, I may want other things, things I told myself I’ll never give again. If I can’t give it, I have no business of wanting it.
When her plate is empty, I load the dishwasher and wipe the counters. She sits in her chair, looking serene but out of place. Like the bastard I am, I don’t try to make her feel welcome. Two days ago, I would’ve gone out of my way to help her settle in. Now our dynamic is different. Besides, Violet doesn’t like to be told what to do, not outside of the bedroom. She won’t want me to spoon-feed her a guide to happiness for unwilling brides. This is her home. The sooner she makes a place for herself here, the easier it will be.
Exhausted, I leave her to stew in her thoughts as I brush my teeth before dragging myself to the spare bedroom. I didn’t sleep last night. I had a lot to think about. Staying with her tonight isn’t going to allow me much sleep either.
After stripping down to my briefs, I crawl into bed and check that the house alarm is set by using the app on my phone. It’s a bedtime habit. Then I flick off the light and throw my arm over my face.
Minutes roll into hours as I lie in the dark, unable to shut down my mind. At two in the morning, I give up, pull on a pair of tracksuit pants, and walk barefoot to the hallway. In front of my bedroom door, I stop to listen. What I expected other than silence, I don’t know. Reassurance, maybe. That she’s there. Safe and sound. That earlier in the kitchen wasn’t a figment of my imagination. I can stand here and tell myself all these bullshit lies, but deep inside I know why I’m listening. I can deal with her anger, but I won’t be able to handle her tears. Trust me to make a woman cry herself to sleep on the night before her wedding. It’s a dick move only I can manage.
I bet my older brother handled that one a lot smoother. Ian asked Cas to marry him in a helicopter while fleeing together for their lives. It’s an exhilarating way to pop the big question. The difference is, in our case, there was no question.
After another few seconds, when no sounds come through the door, I go to the kitchen, pour a glass of milk, and install myself at my desk in the study. I wake my laptop up with my thumbprint and open the file with the second phase of my program, which I baptized Violet II. With all the security I’ve put in place, I’ve made damn sure Violet won’t be able to get her hands on anything on my laptop.
For the rest of the night, I work on ironing out a few kinks in the chain of hard code. By morning, I’ve already had five cups of coffee. To put all the caffeine in my system to good use, I work out on the deck, pushing my body beyond its physical limits until sweat pours off me and I’m so beat I barely make it upstairs for a shower.
When I enter my bedroom, Violet is sleeping soundly in my bed. Apparently, she didn’t suffer from guilt-induced insomnia. Pausing next to the bed, I take in her features. Her long, dark lashes form half-moons over her cheeks. Her skin has a rosy radiance, a color that equals cozy bedcovers and sleepy princesses. She’s resiliently beautiful, my burning comet, but part of what makes her glow comes from within. What makes her shine so brightly is who she is, and, to my detriment, I can’t resist. Not even knowing what she’s done. Especially knowing what she’s done. Her betrayal tied her to me in ways that can never be undone. We’re two peas in a pod. Our union would’ve been perfect if she hadn’t made an enemy of me.
Fisting the cover, I yank it off her body. Her eyes fly open, spilling the most gorgeous violet light.
“It’s time to get ready,” I say, my tone brusque but my manner casual as I walk to the bathroom. No matter how much I desire her, I still want to punish her for being a traitor.
I take my time in the shower, letting the warm water soothe my sore muscles and calm my angry mind. By the time I step back into the room, my control is in check.
Violet stands in front of the window with a mug cupped between her hands. The smell of my hand-milled Kenyan coffee hangs in the air. Her lavender eyes flare when she takes in my naked body. She should be glad I had a hand job in the shower. She could’ve been confronted with my fully erect cock.
“I said to get ready,” I say, flicking my fingers as I stroll past her on my way to the dressing room. “We’re leaving in ten.”
As obstinate as she is, she turns her back on me to finish her coffee in peace. So be it. If she’s not ready when I want to leave, I’ll load her naked into the car. She can get dressed on the way.
While pulling on my clothes, I think about my family, which is a rare occurrence. They’re not at the forefront of my mind this morning because I wanted to invite them to our marriage ceremony. I’m thinking about my late mother and father as a couple who never made it in any way. They sucked as parents as much as they sucked in life. Simply put, they sucked at being people. To be fair, they worked around the clock to put bread on the table. But, to also be brutally honest, there would’ve been more than bread if my father hadn’t spent most of his salary on cheap, hard liquor.