‘What the hell are you doing?’
Libby eased the honey off the spoon and into the mixing bowl with her finger. ‘Oh, you know, the biscuits Eurycleia made were running low, so I thought I’d better make us some more.’ She pretended to scrutinise the recipe she’d found. ‘How about you? Off out?’
Rion looked down at his fresh white shirt and nodded warily, as if he needed to be careful about what details he gave away in case she followed him again. ‘I have an evening meeting with my team.’
‘Well, good luck,’ she said, suppressing the urge to vomit at her own sickly-sweet tone. ‘I’ll still be here when you get home, just the way you like it.’
‘Not exactly the way I like it,’ he drawled.
‘No?’ she asked hopefully.
‘No,’ he breathed, and suddenly he came up behind her, removed her right hand from the mixing bowl, placed her finger in his mouth and then slowly began to suck off the honey. ‘I’d prefer it a little more like this.’
Libby’s whole body was still on fire ten minutes later, long after he’d returned her hand to the bowl with a lingering look and left for his meeting. She shook her head and began stirring the biscuit mixture far more violently than was necessary. This was going to take time, that was all. It was overly optimistic to suppose that the results would be instantaneous if she just acted a little domesticated and looked as if she’d got dressed in the dark. But she had no doubt that he’d soon cease to show any interest in her whatsoever, and be forced to admit that her defiance alone turned him on.
And then declare that he didn’t want her acting as a caricature of his wife, but to be his wife for real? Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Libby, she remonstrated as she dropped the biscuit rounds haphazardly onto a baking sheet. The best she could hope for was that he’d realise that blackmailing her wasn’t worth the effort, and just sign the divorce papers.
But as she closed the door of the oven, leaned her back against its warmth and remembered the limitless joy she’d felt back in his arms, she couldn’t stop herself from hoping.
In the days which followed, almost all of Rion’s time was taken up with the campaign. When he wasn’t attending meetings, or trawling the rest of the province to drum up support, he was on the phone to Delikaris headquarters, checking everything was running smoothly in his absence.
It gave Libby the perfect opportunity play the bland wife to the letter. She didn’t ask too many questions, nor express too many opinions. She didn’t attempt to accompany him anywhere, and although she quietly continued with her work during the day, she always made sure she was home before he was. She left the fridge well-stocked, the house clean and tidy, and continued to wear the drabbest clothes she could find.
And it worked.
Over a week had now passed, and Rion had not made love to her again.
Yes, on the rare occasions that they’d found themselves in the same room he’d still looked at her as though he wanted to lick honey off more than her finger, but she put it down to a half-hearted effort to continue with the pretence that she was wrong. Admittedly, the ultimate test would have been her waiting in his bed every night, rather than opting for the room next door—out of fear that she wouldn’t be able to help herself—but she’d always passed off her decision as the action of a considerate wife who knew her busy husband needed uninterrupted sleep, whilst leaving her door ajar should he wish to prove her wrong.
But he hadn’t. Not once. So, whilst he hadn’t yet admitted that she actually left him cold this way, she remained certain that it would only be a matter of time before he did. And, God, she prayed it would be sooner rather than later.
Because acting this way all the time made her feel as if her wings had been clipped, she justified quickly, not because she was yearning for a repeat performance of that afternoon. Except, to her surprise, she didn’t actually feel as if her wings had been clipped at all. Even though he was out almost as frequently as he had been in the early days of their marriage, it didn’t bother her in the same way that it had done before she’d had her own focus in her work. In fact, she actually quite enjoyed the domesticity, the being in one place rather than finding herself in a different hotel room every night.
In short, her time here had proved that in the last five years she had successfully taken control of her life to such a degree that she did now feel properly ready to share her life with someone, and she wanted to. Which, she decided, might have just knocked her father naming her Liberty off the top spot of the list of greatest ironies of her life. Because, aside from some amazing sex, everything pointed to the fact that the only thing her husband wanted was world domination.