Unholy Intent (Unholy Union 2)

“Damian, I can…” I push her legs apart, but she resists, trying to tug my arm away. “It’s embarrassing. Please.”

“You’re mine. I take care of what’s mine. What’s embarrassing about that? And as far as not fucking you again, well, I can tell you we will be fucking again and often. Now lie back and relax.”

She lies down and looks away, her cheeks pink.

Opening her legs a little wider, I clean her belly first, then her thighs, and finally between her legs. She sucks in a breath at that and I think I should have been gentler. Gone easier. God knows I tried but only partly succeeded.

“We’re expected for dinner, so we won’t have time to shower.”

“Dinner? With your family?”

I start to get dressed while she sits up, holding the blanket to her.

“Your family too now, sweetheart.”

“I’m not…Did you see how they looked at me?”

“No one will hurt you.”

“They want to kill me, Damian.”

“They’re going to have to learn to live with that want because I won’t allow them to hurt you.” I walk to the door that connects my room to hers. From her closet, I choose a dress for her to wear. When I return, she cocks her head to the side.

“Your room’s next to mine? They adjoin?”

“It was convenient. Get dressed.”

“I don’t want to eat with your family.”

“You’re going to have to get it over with. You live here now.”

“Please!”

Leaving my shirt half-buttoned, I go to her and tilt her chin upward. She tries to tug free, but I tighten my grip.

“Do you appreciate your new phone?”

“What are you going to do? Give me something then threaten to take it away every time you want me to do something awful?”

“Marriage is a give and take, Cristina. I gave you a phone. Now you give me something.”

“Please don’t bullshit me about marriage being a give and take. All I’ve seen is you taking. And besides, this is a sham.”

She tries to tug free again, but when I don’t release her, she slaps at my arm.

I catch her wrist, pulling her to her feet, and tug her toward me.

“Did you come tonight?”

“Get off me.”

“Did you come?”

“Fuck you.”

“Twice. You came twice.”

“Fuck off, Damian.”

“Don’t push me. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

“Let go of me. I’m not going to your dinner, and as far as marriage being a give and take, you already took far more than you gave!”

“Be. Careful.”

“What’s the matter? The truth not really something you’re comfortable with?”

I grit my teeth, count to ten, and release her. “Get dressed.” I walk away, picking up my jacket.

“I’m not going,” she says, and when I turn to her, she sprints for the still open connecting door.

I catch her before she makes it, pushing her up against the wall. I hold her there by her arms.

“Get dressed or I’ll take you down naked.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

I raise my eyebrows. “No? Do you really want to test me?”

She watches me. She knows I mean it. “Why do you want me to do this?” she asks, frustration making her voice sound higher. “They hate me, Damian.”

“And that’s exactly why. You need to be strong. They can smell weakness, Cristina. They can smell fear. It’s what they want, and it’s coming off you like you bathed in the stuff.”

Her shoulders slump as I ease my hold on her. Her eyes fill up with tears, morph into that color of sunrise when she’s about to cry.

Fuck.

“I’ll be there with you. I won’t leave you alone with them.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I? Just like the wedding. Just like that.” She gestures to the bed with her eyes.

“No, you don’t,” I say, although that last part bothers me.

“Let me go. I’ll get dressed in my room.”

“Fine.” I let her go and pick up her dress. I hand it to her.

She disappears into her bathroom, emerging ten minutes later. She’s rigid as I take her hand and lead her downstairs where everyone is gathered, drinks in hand, the music and the mood dark.

My sister is the first to stand when we enter, her martini glass half-empty. She approaches with a strange grin on her face, something about her different.

I only realize what it is when she’s standing directly in front of Cristina.

Mother. Fucker.

“Welcome to the family,” she says, leaning toward Cristina, who is an inch taller than her, and kissing her on the cheek.

She shifts her attention to me. “Congratulations, Brother,” she says and kisses me the same way she kissed Cristina.

Judas.

Michela smirks, then makes a point of pausing as she turns before walking away.

Cristina gasps.

Because for the first time since her return to the house, penniless and desperate, Michela is wearing a backless dress.

And the silvery lines that crisscross her skin display my shame.

Fuck.

I see Cristina’s shocked expression in my periphery as her eyes lock on my sister’s skin.