I don’t know if this is a good time to tell him I wholeheartedly do not believe in the principle of polygamy. All I know is I need to get out of here.
Now.
“Take me home.” I move toward the handle of the passenger door, but he grabs my hand, pinning me against the seat.
“Bellamy, stop. You’re being ridiculous. Keep sweet. That’s all you have to do. Keep sweet, and I’ll take care of you. Submit to me. Marry me. Have my babies. We’ll expand our family when the time is right. This is the only path for us.” He produces his argument like he’s speaking undeniable truths. “This is what Heavenly Father wants for us. I feel it in the deepest part of my soul.”
He sounds like my father on his craziest of days, when the ranting and quoting and paraphrasing booms from his mouth to God’s ears.
My heart races until the blood whooshes in my ears, and my head fills full of a thought-drowning thickness.
“You don’t want to marry me, Cortland.” I jerk my wrist, but he’s gripping it hard, unwilling to free me. “I’m all wrong for you. I’m not the submitting type.”
“Sure you are.” He releases my wrist for a second and squeezes tighter. “Might take some work, but we’ll get there.”
“Maybe I don’t want to submit.”
“Maybe you don’t have a choice.” His eyes flash in a way that chills my soul.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His answer comes in the form of an egotistical leer, one that implies he’s much craftier than I ever gave him credit for.
“Are you blackmailing me?” I lean away, or at least as much as I can. My back presses against the seat until there’s no more give in the upholstery.
“I want you, Bellamy. I have to have you. I’m the only man who’s ever felt you from the inside.”
Right. With your fingers.
“I’m the only man who’s ever tasted you. I’m the only man who’s ever commanded your body, pleasured you, and that’s why you keep coming back to me.” He leans closer to me, running his mouth across mine before taking a single, biting kiss. “I want the rest of you, which means you have to marry me. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”
“Take me home, Cortland.” I wriggle out from underneath him, jerking my wrists from his grasp and lunging for the door. The second the fresh air hits me, uncontrollable shivers run the length of my body.
The click of the opposite passenger door fills the empty parking lot. I stand frozen as he climbs into the driver’s seat and then rolls down the window next to me.
“Get in, Bellamy. I’ll take you back.”
I’m powerless in this moment because my car is several miles across town, and I do not own a cell phone. Calling my sister, Waverly, for a ride will just get me into even more trouble at home, and the last thing I need is for my father to be asking why I was on the south side of town, when I was supposed to be at Bible Study.
I climb in, slamming the door hard.
The drive across town is a mixture of muted thoughts and road noise. By the time he pulls into the church parking lot, my car is the only one left. According to the clock on the dash, I’m going to be thirty minutes late going home, which means regardless, I’ll still have my father’s wrath to deal with.
I can’t win.
Cortland pulls up beside my car, reaching over to place his hand atop my knee.
My body responds to his touch with a delayed flinch.
“Tonight, you’ll tell your father that I approached you after our studies, and we lost track of time as we spoke. You’ll arrange a time for me to meet everyone, and then we’ll begin our official courtship.” He speaks as if he’s had this planned for a while.
I should’ve known where this was headed when he signed his Valentine’s Day card with a heart and “Love forever, Cortland.” All along I thought I was dealing with some love-struck puppy dog, not a sadistic maniac.
Guess I thought wrong.
“Submit to me, Bellamy. No one else can love you the way you need to be loved. Only me. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”
Marrying Cortland, or anyone else like him, would breathe life into my darkest nightmare.
My body buzzes with paddle-shock intensity. None of my thoughts makes sense, and I’m not certain I could form a complete sentence if forced. In all those months of sneaking around, never once did I consider this to be a possible outcome.
“I’m going to marry you by the end of the year,” he says. He releases his hand from my lap and rubs it across the smooth plastic of his steering wheel. I hate the slick sound it makes against his palm. “And Bellamy?”