Sparrow(13)

A handful of guests went through the usual motions, gathering on the sidewalk and throwing birdseed at our vehicle. Birdseed. At least my new husband wasn’t as predictable as to try and make a joke about my name. Instead, as we merged into the busy Boston traffic, he handed me a wide, deep white box tied with a pink satin bow.

“From me, to you,” he said, his expression emotionless.

I took the box carefully from his hand and untied the bow with shaky fingers. Pausing, I glanced up at him, suspicious. Dammit, would I ever stop acting like a sheep led to slaughter around this man?

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything,” I said, ignoring his predator eyes. “As you’re aware, this wedding was pretty rushed and unexpected.”

“I’ll live,” he said tonelessly.

Yup, unfortunately. I bit my lip to suppress the nasty comeback.

He waved his hand impatiently. “For fuck’s sake, Red. Unwrap the damn thing.”

I ignored the fact he called me Red again. Yes, I was a redhead, but he was an asshole, and you didn’t see me walking around calling him that without making sure he liked his new pet name first.

I poked aside the tissue paper in the mysterious white box. When the contents registered, bile shot up my throat and my blood froze. Almost screeching, I threw the box in his lap like it was a nest of snakes.

My gift was very revealing and degrading lingerie items. I’m talking leather, fishnets and all that crap.

Tears stung my eyes. I fought them, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. A traitorous tear managed to sneak out, rolling down my right cheek. I swiped it away and clenched my jaw to stop my chin from quivering. If this asshole was hungry for my pain, I planned to keep him starving.

Brennan’s stony face broke into a taunting smirk. “What’s that, Red? Not even a thank you?” His low voice crawled deep under my skin.

I shook my head no. I assumed sex was going to be a part of the package, but in the ten days he’d caged me in his penthouse, alone and afraid, he hadn’t visited more than once, let alone tried to touch me.

This was a reminder that just because he hadn’t yet, didn’t mean that he wouldn’t.

“So you need a leatherette bra and a vinyl teddy to be turned on? I didn’t peg you for a cliché, Brennan.”

His eyes lit with something devilish. “And I didn’t peg you for someone who answers back. Don’t worry, little birdie. We’ll have plenty of time to explore one another.”

I stared straight ahead, focusing on the back of our driver’s head and biting my tongue. I hated that he called me Birdie. Only people I loved called me that.

“Chill out, Red. I have no interest in tapping your ass unless you’re willing and begging.”

“That’s interesting, because you sure seem to have a healthy interest in lingerie shopping. Too much spare time?” I deadpanned.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t pick those items.” He tilted his chin to the gift nestled in layers of tissue paper.

“No?” I blinked slowly.

“No…” He leaned forward, bringing his mouth closer to mine. “My mistress chose your gift.”

Sirens wailed in the distance, a truck beeped as it reversed and the angry hum of my blood buzzed in my ears. Still, somehow, time completely stopped despite the busy streets of Boston flashing by outside. Our driver kept swallowing hard and looking straight ahead robotically, but I knew he was listening. Saying I wasn’t comfortable having this conversation in front of a complete stranger was the understatement of the century.

I pressed my lips between my teeth, trying not to launch at my husband like a cornered animal. This man promised me his faithfulness in front of a priest less than an hour ago. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe he’d ever take this marriage seriously, but he didn’t have to rub his affairs in my face.

“She really doesn’t like you if she goes around buying lingerie for your wife.” My voice barely trembled.

“She just knows what’s best for her. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from her.”

I tucked my hands under my thighs to keep from trying to strangle him. “Tell her to send me the syllabus. I’m especially interested in How to Tame the ManWhore 101.” I offered him a sweet smile, folding my arms over my laced-covered chest.

Just then, the limo came to a halt and the driver rushed to help us out of the back and onto the steps of the eighteenth-century landmark where the wedding reception was taking place. Troy got out first, offering me his hand. I didn’t move, ignoring his gesture.

“Remember, play nice.” He kept his palm open, yet uninviting.