CHAPTER14
Leon
Iwake up early with Violet sleeping soundly in my arms. Her warm, soft body next to me is soothing, but my mind is far from calm. With last night playing on repeat in my head, I haven’t slept a wink.
I didn’t pay Violet to turn her into a sex worker. Never in my dreams would I have imagined that my callous actions would teach her how to sell her body to me and—I can barely think it—to strangers. Recalling what that dickhead in the bar had said makes me go hot and cold. My blood boils while ice simultaneously fills my veins.
Then why did I do it? To punish her. To pretend beyond the sex I didn’t care. Because I didn’t want her to know how much she hurt me. Most of all? To save myself from falling for her. After what she did, I couldn’t trust her with my heart. If I couldn’t trust her with my property, trusting her with my emotions would’ve been a stupid mistake. I paid her, pretending that if I approached sex like I always did, it wouldn’t become emotional. I believed a business transaction would prevent my feelings from getting involved.
That backfired royally.
In my defense, it’s always worked before. But now I understand that the magic of remaining unattached wasn’t in paying for sex. It was simply because none of those women did anything for me.
What I never considered was how Violet would interpret my actions. She’s my wife. Nothing can change that. Especially not an insignificant amount of money left on the nightstand. A hundred or ten thousand, it makes no difference. It was a symbolic gesture to remind me of my resolution and designed to keep her at a distance. She’s dangerous. I knew that from the moment I first saw her. I knew I’d fall for her, and no matter how hard I fought it, I did.
If she hadn’t betrayed me, I wouldn’t have resisted the inevitable so hard. I would’ve gladly given her my heart. It seems I never had a choice in the matter. Even before I spoke to Ash and came to a decision, I’d already laid my heart at Violet’s feet. The betrayal still hurts. I don’t think it will ever stop hurting, but I decided to forgive her, and I’ll stick to that.
It is what it is. What happened is in the past. I want to move forward. With her. Trust won’t come easily for either of us. It’ll take time. Maybe forever. I don’t know if I can ever trust her or if, one day, she’ll put her faith in me, but Ash was wrong about one thing. I don’t require trust for this marriage to work. I can be jealous and possessive as fuck. I can live with that too. I can hire bodyguards and have Violet followed. I can plant cameras in the house. I’ll do whatever I have to, but Violet will remain mine. If that’s the price I have to pay to wake up next to her every morning, so be it.
As for me, I’ll work harder. I’ll be a proper husband and a good lover. I’ll be her protector and her friend. I’ll put this ugly, dirty thing behind us and provide for her every need. I’ll take care of her financially and emotionally. If she needs a hug, I’ll give her two strong arms. If she needs a shoulder to cry on, mine is broad. She can find a place to rest her head on my chest. My heartbeat won’t lie. It beats for her.
A person is innocent until proven guilty. I won’t judge her future by her past. I won’t expect the worst because she crossed the line once. I’m a thief. I’m the last person who can judge, but even thieves live by a code of conduct. We don’t steal from each other. We run in packs, and we’re loyal to our gangs. Maybe this is the part that will be the hardest. To give her the benefit of the doubt. Because what that boils down to is the same thing that started this whole mess. Trust.
Blind trust is no easy feat. Trusting someone with your eyes shut is a contradiction in terms, but I’ll juggle those contradictions and walk on the thin edge of balance. If it takes walking on the edge of a sword, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for her.
Making this silent oath, I get up without waking her. After a quick shower, I dress in casual slacks and a button-down, suitable attire for a Sunday lunch at my brother’s place. I make coffee, have breakfast, call a private taxi, and leave a note for Violet.
The taxi drops me off at the bar where we left Violet’s car. On the way home, I make a few stops. The first is at The Brightwater Commons. The guy from last night blanches when he sees me, but I assure him I’m not back to kill him because I changed my mind about liking the tattoo.
Thirty minutes later, I leave with Violet’s initials inked on the underside of my arm. The script matches her tattoo. It’s like a second wedding ring. If I made her wear one, it’s only fair that I do the same. Besides, I like the way her initials look on my body. I like the idea that it’s permanent.
The florist downstairs stocks a variety of bouquets. That stop is easy. So is the one at the wine cellar. The next one at the toy store is more difficult. I browse the aisles for more than an hour, at a loss for age and gender-appropriate gifts. Eventually, I settle on an educational card game and the pink, fluffy monstrosity the sales lady recommends.
After a last stop at the chocolate boutique, I make it home by eleven. The sight that greets me when I enter with my arms full of shopping bags simultaneously calms me and speeds up my pulse. Violet is standing in the kitchen, holding a mug between her palms. Her dark hair hangs loose around her shoulders, the thick strands tamed into obedient curls. The lavender color of her eyes pops against the golden tan of her skin. A pink sundress hugs her figure. With the sunlight filtering through the window as a backdrop, the fabric is semi-transparent. I can guess the outline of her pink lace bra, and even if I can’t see the traces of her panties under the wide skirt, I can imagine them. She’s barefoot, one foot propped up on the other, sipping the coffee I made for her.
The picture is a stunning mixture of sensuality and homeliness. Standing there like that, she looks as if she belongs in my kitchen and in my life.
My casual, “Good morning,” doesn’t betray the tightness of my chest as I walk to the table and deposit my purchases. I’m afraid of what I’ll find, petrified that I’ll never snap her out of whatever strange state she withdrew into last night.
The fact that she doesn’t reply isn’t reassuring. Going over, I stop in front of her. A few beats pass as I do nothing but smell her, feel her, and look at her. The fragrance of her skin makes me want to lick that salted caramel taste on every part of her body. I want to burrow my nose in her hair and inhale her essence to make it my own. I can stand like this forever, exploring all the corners of her presence. There are a million ways in which I feel her, in how she fills my space, a trillion follicles on my skin reacting to her nearness. I can look at her features until we’re old, and I’ll never grow tired of the lines of her face. There’s not enough time in eternity to discover all the delights of her sharp tongue and creative mind.
She’s like a drug. My flame.
Taking the mug from her hands, I leave it on the counter. She doesn’t argue or question me. She lets me treat her like a doll, like my pretty marionette. I miss her fire.
Leaning closer, I cup her head and press the lengths of our bodies together. We fit like we were carved for each other. Her soul is the missing piece to mine. Our breaths mingle as I tilt her face up. When I close my eyes, I trust blindly. When I lower my head, I break a promise I made to myself on the night she betrayed me. And when I brush my lips over hers, I kiss her like I’ve never kissed a woman.
The kiss is tender and unrushed. Framing her beautiful face, I slant my lips over hers and lap up the delicious taste of her mouth. Her lips are soft and pliant, the curves plump and juicy. She tastes of coffee and milk, of everything I’ve denied myself. Denied us.
She opens her lips and lets me inside, not offering resistance as I take the leisurely exploration deeper. She lets me manipulate her mouth however I please, but she doesn’t give in. Not yet. She makes me work for it, hard, and I do. I use every technique and skill I possess, pouring everything I’ve got into one, single kiss.
Just when I think the battle is lost and what I’ve broken is irreparable, I feel it rather than hear it—a small, breathless gasp. I grab it and cling to it like a buoy in turbulent waters, doubling my efforts and drowning anyway. I’m lost in her. Instead of saving her, I’m sinking, the seduction I targeted at her sweeping me away.