I shifted on the bed, strategically placing a stray pillow across my lap. Somehow, I didn't think an offer of a quick romp would ease the tension between us.
"I don't normally act like this."
I arched an eyebrow at her. "No?"
"No." She sighed, finally raising her gaze to meet mine. "I know you didn't want this either. I just … I don't know what to do."
"There's not much to do." I reached over and grabbed one of her leftover pieces of pineapple from the cardboard and popped it into my mouth. "It is what it is, and we can't change that, much as we want to. So the way I see it, we have two options open for us. Either we continue bickering every chance we get, or … we try to get along as best we can. I figure if we pick option two, maybe we'll be just slightly less miserable."
She snorted and a flicker of amusement pulled at the corner of her mouth.
"What's funny?"
The flicker turned into a full, albeit wry, smile. "Just that I'm failing miserably as a psychologist, what with leaving the calm rationalization up to the thug in the room while I'm busy freaking out. The irony is sort of poetic."
I raised both eyebrows at her in mock-insult. "The thug?"
Mira waved a hand dismissively at me. "Thug, crime lord, mobster. Take your pick."
I chuckled. "I almost want to see you call my father a ‘thug' to his face."
She sighed again and looked at me, this time with a questioning frown that made her look oddly innocent. My cock gave a spasm in agreement of my assessment.
"Do you think we can make it work?" she asked.
"What, the marriage?"
"The trying-to-get-along-thing," she said quickly. "I'm under no illusion that it'll ever be an actual marriage, but … maybe if we can figure out to just get along, that'll be enough."
I gave her a small smile. "Yeah, I think we can try that."
Getting along would be a massive step up from what I'd envisioned my future with her to be like just this morning, yet when I left her room to get on with my night shortly after, it wasn't relief that made me draw in a deep breath before I headed for the stairs.
If "getting along" was much more than what I'd been hoping for this morning, then why was part of me disappointed that she'd made it so clear she had no intentions of making the marriage work?
*
Chapter 10
Mira
Sharing that pizza was the last time in more than a week that I saw Blaine. Sure, I'd occasionally hear him banging around in the kitchen when I was in my bedroom, or hear his shower going while I trotted down the stairs to the kitchen myself, but we didn't actually come face-to-face at any point.
At the beginning, I found it such a relief. Not actually seeing him meant I didn't have to really deal with him, which made getting along so much easier. I talked to Rob-the goon who was most frequently stationed outside our front door-and got my shopping arrangements sorted out, and was on that occasion handed the platinum AmEx Blaine had apparently told his righthand man to give to me with instructions to use it as I pleased, "within reason."
I'm not going to lie, the "within reason" part only lasted until I'd opened up John Lewis' website.
My job as a psychologist allowed me to get by just fine, but I'd never before been in a situation where I could get all the furnishings I dreamed of with just a few clicks of a button. It was completely intoxicating.
I spent a full week in an online shopping frenzy, which I vaguely justified with my plan to befriend Blaine. It was obvious that he expected me to be a good little homemaking mob wife, and as long as that only involved buying pretty things with his money, I was happy to play the part.
Only, on the ninth day, when most of my purchases arrived at the door, Blaine was nowhere to be found.
"Where is he?"
Rob gave me a short glance over the top of the gold-striped sofa he and his partner for the day were in the process of dragging through the hallway and into one of the reception rooms. "Out."
"Out where?" I followed the two men, ensuring they put the sofa where I'd specified.
"Working. Here?"
I nodded, and the two goons put the sofa down on the new rug in front of the heavy coffee table they'd carried in before.
"When will he be back?"
"Dunno." Rob rubbed his lower back with a sigh before heading back toward the hallway, no doubt eager to get done with dragging furniture for me as soon as possible.
I plopped down on my new sofa and bit my lip as the flaw in my plan finally dawned on me. While Blaine not being around meant I didn't have to deal with him, it also meant that I was nowhere near my goal of befriending him. And if he didn't hang around long enough that I could make him trust me, then there was zero chance he would ever give me enough rein that I could eventually escape.
I'd thought that getting all domesticated and making our house into a home would perhaps break the ice between us-that if he saw me making an effort to be more like what he wanted from a wife, he would be easier to manage.
But if the bastard wasn't even home to notice, then my plan wasn't going to work.
I looked up as Rob and Greg came, huffing and puffing, through the open French doors into the reception room with a seven-foot bookshelf made from solid oak, sweat beading on both their foreheads.
I hadn't talked much to either of them or the other men who played bodyguards in front of our house, apart from when I needed to have them approve the lists of companies where I'd ordered food and furniture from.
They scared me. Everything about them, from their tough faces, bulging muscles, and unapproachable demeanors, reminded me of the darkest parts of my childhood. I had learned to fear men like them from an early age, as much as I'd learned to fear their superiors, like Blaine and his family. Yet, when I looked at them now as they dragged all my heavy purchases up and down the stairs, to make sure everything was just as I'd asked, it was easier to see them for more than something to be scared of. They were busting their arses to make me happy, even if they did it with grim expressions and only because Blaine undoubtedly had told them to help me out whenever I asked.
A wave of gratitude swept over me when I saw Greg wince as they sat down my heavy book case. Babysitting your boss's wife would have to suck pretty hard, even if your day job was being a criminal, and yet they did it without making me feel like a burden. Granted, they didn't exactly make me feel warm and welcome, either, but then again, I hadn't done anything to make them feel welcome.
"Would you like a cup of tea?
Neither man managed to hide a look of surprise as I stood up from the sofa and offered each a genuine, if somewhat tentative, smile.
"Uh. Sure. Thanks."
"It's the least I can do, for all the work you've done for me," I chirped, suddenly in a much better mood. Perhaps it was because it was my first positive interaction with another human being in weeks, but the simple act of putting the kettle on and getting the fancy china out I'd bought a few days ago made me feel like a different person. Or a real person, I should say, rather than a depressed captive with access to the Internet and a shopping addiction.
I made the tea in my new pretty, pink-and-green pot and arranged three cups on a silver tray. Then, thinking about all the hard work Greg and Rob had been doing all day, I threw together a few sandwiches as well, but when I went to put them on the tray I realized that I likely wasn't going to get many other chances to break out my Butterfly Bloom afternoon tea set.
Fifteen minutes later, I'd set up the three-tier cake stand and filled it with sandwiches, store-bought scones and some cakes I'd planned on eating later in my room, and the kitchen breakfast bar had been transformed into a full-on tea party.
"Tea's ready," I yelled up the stairs, where I'd last heard the two bodyguards bump around with yet another piece of bulging furniture.
From the looks on their faces when they entered the kitchen thirty seconds later, they hadn't expected the colorful spread.
"This is for us?" Rob's one eyebrow was quirked in what I could only assume was mild disbelief.
I felt my face heat up a bit. Okay, so maybe I'd gone a bit overboard. "Yeah … I figured you might be hungry, and … " And it wasn't like I would be able to invite anyone else over for tea and scones anytime soon. Not that I was the most social of people, but a full week in near-isolation had apparently made me pretty starved for company. I sat down on the bar stool farthest left and grabbed a sandwich triangle-crust free. "Help yourselves."
Both men sat down with some hesitation, which only emphasized how much their rough appearance clashed with the delicate porcelain.
"You don't like afternoon tea?" I guessed, doing my best to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Just because I was desperately lonely enough to try and socialize with Blaine's hired goons didn't mean that they had any interest in making even the most basic of smalltalk with me.