Beyond Measure (Ruthless Doms 2)

I can’t ignore their warnings that play in my mind. I can’t ignore my most trusted advisors. Is she really who she appears to be?Chapter 16CarolineI prepared for dinner tonight as nervous as a young girl about to go on her first date. But tonight isn’t our first time together. My body still hums with need, still remembers the pain of his punishment and pleasure he’s granted me. Yet my hands shake when I fix my hair, and I need to have Eliott help me zip my dress.

At first when I came back to the room and found a note from Eliott, I found it a bit over the top.

Ring me to help you prepare for dinner.

Who am I, that I need the assistance of someone for such a silly, daily task? I fumbled with my preparations until I realized I couldn’t quite do it alone.

So I called. He came in less than a minute, beaming from ear to ear.

“I’m glad you gave me this opportunity,” he said, then in minutes, my dress was zipped, my makeup fixed, my hair done.

“I can’t do this every day,” I tell him. “I mean, eventually I need to be able to handle my own—beautification or whatever.”

He grins and wags a finger at me. “And why can you not do this every day, mmm?”

I shrug. “It seems so shallow and unnecessary.”

He shakes his head. “Mon amie, you still think like a single girl and not like the wife of the pakhan. Your appearance is of vital importance. When you present yourself as haggard or unkempt, it reflects on your respect for your husband.”

I laugh out loud. “Eliott, not having a personal assistant fix my hair and makeup hardly makes me unkempt. Need I remind you, the majority of women take care of their own appearances?”

“Hush,” he says, dismissing my protests with another wave of his hand. “The majority of women are not wife to the pakhan. Eventually, you will learn how to prepare. But don’t put me out of a job quite yet, yes?”

So, I let him get me ready. But now that I face my husband, in this massive, impressive dining room, surrounded by those powerful, muscled men he calls brothers, I lose a bit of my resolve. I look to him and wave, then feel heat creep up my neck. I waved at him, like we were friends meeting up at a bar. Gah. And his reaction doesn’t soothe my nerves. He beckons to me sharply, a scowl on his face.

Did I do something wrong? I hate that I fear this, but I do. He’s my husband, and I wish to please him.

“You look stunning,” he says with pleasure when I reach him. Standing, he places a possessive hand on my lower back and kisses my cheek. My heart does a crazy little skip in my chest at the gentle kiss. I’m pleased with his praise.

“Thank you. I felt silly calling Eliott, but I needed help.” He pulls out a chair for me and I sit. I look down at the table and reach for the napkins to steady my shaking hands. “Eventually, I’ll know how to do these things myself.”

“Then I’d have to fire Eliott,” he says. “Are you sure you want that?” Though his eyes twinkle at me, I can’t help but take him seriously.

“Would you fire him if I didn’t need him?”

“Relax, Caroline,” he says, but he looks as if his mind is elsewhere. “Eliott is here to serve you. Allow him.”

One of the kitchen staff approaches me before I can respond, and I answer her question about which dish to serve first. When I turn back to Tomas, he’s scowling. What have I done?

“I’d prefer to serve you the food I—” I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, he shakes his head sharply.

“I allowed you to cook, but under no condition will you serve me or my brothers. You are not paid staff, Caroline. You are wife to the pakhan.”

I feel as if he’s doused me with cold water, the pleasure I felt just moments ago at his praise dashed that quickly, and now he’s scowling again.

Did I imagine any tenderness on his part? Was it merely in my head, thinking he wanted to let me pursue my interests and actually have some semblance of normalcy to married life? And as I mull on this, I feel my own irritation rising. Maybe he only patronized me to placate me, and now he wants me in my place.

How could I have ever thought he could ever love a girl like me?

I look down at my handsome husband, unable to meet his eyes. I’m no longer hungry for the food that I made.

What if he’s no better than my brother? What if I haven’t escaped to a better place but chained myself to a man who will never love me, who will make me bear his children, and who’ll punish me if I step a toe out of line? It’s a sobering and fairly nauseating possibility.