The slight frown on her face told me that my voice had given away more than I’d anticipated, but I was curious, hopeful that maybe now I’d shown that I never intended her any harm.
“May I be honest?” she asked.
“Always,” I said.
She exhaled, her knee brushing my leg as she shifted in her seat. “I am. I thought…I don’t know what I thought…” She shook her head. “That’s not true,” she said.
“So what’s true?” I asked, able to guess but wanting to hear the words in her own voice.
Though I kept my eyes on the road, I could feel hers searching my face, examining me. “I thought you’d be more like him.”
There was no doubt who the “him” was. I squeezed the wheel tighter, the thought of being compared to Santo requiring me to do something, to control the sudden anger.
“Did he hurt you?” I said, vowing that Santo wouldn’t see another day if he had.
“No,” she said, her voice quiet.
“But he didn’t have to,” I supplied.
“No. I knew the consequences without him having to spell them out,” she said.
I glanced at her, but she quickly lowered her eyes and looked away.
“And you want me to do the same?” I said, trying to ignore how much that hurt, especially after what had happened between us just hours ago.
“It’s a reasonable concern, don’t you think?” she asked, her voice still low, now almost timid in a way I hated.
Reasonable or not, I didn’t like it, not at all. I pulled to a stop and then turned to face her.
“Perhaps, but make no mistake, Daniela. I don’t hurt innocent people,” I said.
Of its own volition, my hand lifted, and I cupped her cheek again, her soft skin against my hand soothing me in a way I hadn’t even realized I needed.
She stared into my eyes, her own brimming with emotion and wariness as she struggled with something, probably whether or not to believe me. I was on the verge of reassuring her when she spoke. “Take me home, Sergei,” she whispered on a husky breath.
Ten
Daniela
Innocent.
That word had floated around my head all night, at least during the time Sergei hadn’t been driving me to climax after climax. It still did so the next morning.
Sergei thought me innocent.
I hadn’t corrected his mistake.
The chirp of birds and bright sun that again filled the room were completely at odds with the swirling confusion in my mind.
He thought of me as an innocent person, and he’d told me he didn’t hurt innocent people.
I believed him.
Day three of my marriage, and I was as confused as I’d been the entire time, with no end seemingly in sight. Only the reasons why had shifted.
I’d started out afraid, wanting to protect myself and my family, and now I was grappling with the fact that I found myself trusting my new husband, wanting him desperately, despite all reason that told me to do otherwise.
He’d taken me to his room, but was gone when I awoke. So, mind not really there, I made my way to my own room, and then I showered and dressed, preparing for another day. I paused, though, when I realized I had slid my wedding rings on my finger without conscious thought.
I looked down at the platinum band that had been heavy on my finger but now felt right there. It was beautiful. The stone was large, but not over-the-top, the band thick, with a simple filigree pattern that gave it a little flair.
I wondered if Sergei had picked it out. Certainly not, but I still felt that little bloom of warmth in my chest at the thought that he had.
I’d carefully considered my outfit today like always and had settled on a light blue shirt dress that hit midcalf. It was a little informal, but I didn’t expect more visitors today, and for what I had planned for the day, it would do. I’d brushed my hair down and decided to let it fly wild and untamed today and then, after I slipped my feet into nude flats, I headed downstairs.
As I made my way down the staircase, I tried to focus on what was to come, anticipate what it would be like to face him after last night, wondered how things would change, thought of when I might have him again.
When I reached the kitchen, I paused long enough to have my morning glass of juice and then began preparing breakfast.
As I cracked eggs, I couldn’t help but think of my mother. My sister and I had done this countless times, cracked thousands of eggs in this kitchen, done countless other little things to prepare us for the life that was ahead of us.
I’d always paid attention, wanting to show my mother I was worthwhile, that she hadn’t made a mistake in taking us in. Trying to prove I belonged, but I’d never really thought this would be my reality.