Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,72
My only light blazed from my phone, which I checked compulsively.
Dad: Are you okay?
Dad: Talk to me.
Me: I’m fine.
I couldn’t stand exchanging another sentence with my father. He’d let me down so badly. I couldn’t breathe without pain stabbing my ribs. I wrapped myself in blankets, as though the vivid images would disappear with enough heat. My mind buzzed as I pieced together my arrival into the hotel and the girls on stage.
I’d seen wild things at patchover parties. Public sex didn’t offend me, but it was different with vacant-eyed women and the men with zero regard for them.
My eyes fought to stay open but sleep was out of the question. So was tearing my gaze from the door. He had to come back. Tony had the answers. Minutes…hours passed as the golf ball in my throat swelled.
The elevator pinged.
I scrambled from the sofa.
The doors opened. My disheveled husband stepped inside, carrying a takeout bag and a drink caddy. He tossed his keys and strode into the kitchen, setting everything on the counter. Tony’s button-up was rather wrinkled and his expression pinched, but he seemed all right.
Thank God.
My body sagged, and the fatigue slammed into me at last. I dropped onto the tiles. Tony stooped, gripping my upper arms.
“What’s wrong? Didn’t you sleep?”
“I couldn’t until you got home.”
Tony’s brows furrowed, as though he couldn’t imagine why I’d sacrifice my health for him. “Jesus, you must be dead on your feet. Let’s get some food in you.”
Orange light shot through the grim Boston cityscape as Tony led me into the living room with the wall-to-wall windows. He sank onto the couch, dragging me beside him.
“Want some?”
He offered me a pastry, but I sprawled over the cushions and put my head in his lap. A mistake, because the position reminded me of what happened shortly after being drugged.
I fisted his slacks and fought against the urge to cry out. He stroked my hair. Then he broke off a piece of croissant and held it to my lips.
“Eat. You’ll feel better.”
“No.” I nuzzled his thighs and kissed him. “Only this helps.”
The hand on my hip squeezed, and he let out a tense breath. His touch set off lightning strikes under my skin, even if he touched me with bread.
“Eat, baby.”
I obeyed, the butter exploding over my tongue.
“Is this a thing now?” I murmured, adjusting myself on his leg. “I never imagined you’d have a feeding fetish.”
“Not my kink.”
“And yet I feel hardness under my cheek. Way to turn a sweet Hallmark moment into a something naughty.” I turned, facing him. “What would your mother say?”
His full mouth tugged into a bemused grin. “She’s Italian.”
“You keep throwing that out like it makes sense to anybody but you.”
“Family is important in our culture.” He said it pointedly, sending a ripple of heat through my chest. “Mom is always in my corner, no matter what. So if you cry to her about me, she’ll blame you for not servicing your husband. She’ll say I have a man’s needs and you should do your duty.”
Somehow, I doubted that. “I think your mom is happier with me than with you.”
“She did threaten to disown me, so you may be right.”
“What for?”
“Being an asshole to my wife.”
His palm cradled my cheek, the shock of him behaving this way running through my body. The touch upset my balance even though I lay still. He stroked me, temple to the back of my head.
“Tony, why are you doing this?”
“I like taking care of you, and there’s not much I enjoy anymore.”
He kissed my temple lightly.
The imprint of his lips and his bewitching smile warmed me, and then he scratched his nose. Blood smeared his shirt in a long gash.
Holy shit.
I struggled upright, seizing Tony’s arm.
“Broken glass. Nothing to worry about.”
“Did you kill anyone?”
He shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Ice twisted my stomach. “Where were you?”
“Running errands. No biggie.”
“Tony, I am not an idiot,” I burst, pushing from his lap. “Please don’t lie to me.”
“I went to see your dad. We had a disagreement.”
“You mean fight.”
“He’s in one piece, hon. Swear to God. Call him if you don’t believe me.”
These days, Tony had more of my trust. My pulse raced. If I hadn’t married Tony, where would I be? Who would I be forced to service after being sold into slavery?
I glanced at Tony. “I don’t feel like talking to him.”
“I don’t blame you.”
He followed as I stormed into the bathroom, slamming cupboards and drawers until I discovered a first-aid kit.