Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,89

who’s currently in my bed is affecting me with her presence, and I don’t like it.

12

Micaela

Does he really think I’m going to sleep when I’m in his bedroom?

Glancing around, I take in the dark room. The walls are black, along with the four poster California King I’m currently sitting on. The sheets and comforter along with the pillows are all the color of raven feathers and just as shiny. The satin material feels cool against my skin that feels like I’m burning up.

A low cabinet with three drawers sits opposite the bed with a large mirror that shows my reflection. I look so small on the enormous bed. The wine-red carpets are soft underfoot when I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand.

To the left of the bed, I pad toward the windows overlooking the garden, which is slowly emptying as people move indoors. The decorations are visible from up here. Thick metal bars are welded into the wall, covering the glass panes, so there’s no way of climbing out to escape. Even if they weren’t there, being on the second floor makes it far too high to jump.

I’m about to step away from the windows when I see Creed out in the garden talking to a woman. She’s also got red hair, but they don’t seem friendly at all. I don’t know who she is. I didn’t notice her when we arrived at the party, but she’s not wearing a mask, only a bright red dress that matches her long hair.

Jealousy courses through me, shocking me back from the metal bars. I can’t be jealous of her. He’s not mine. And I’m certainly not his either.

Even though Dad wants me with Creed, I just don’t know how it’s going to work. When I was younger and thought about getting married one day, I didn’t think it would be arranged by my father. And I definitely didn’t envision marrying a psychopath. Because that’s precisely what Creed is.

A knock at the door startles me, and as it whooshes open, I’m met with a woman who looks like she’s possibly their stepmother. She’s an older woman, but she’s beautiful.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m Mallory. I brought you a change of clothes. Creed said you weren’t feeling well, and I figured if you wanted to have a hot shower, you’d most likely want to get changed.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles, nods, and sets the clothes on the large wooden chest sitting at the foot end of the bed. “I know Creed is a lot to handle,” she tells me. “But he does have a good heart. It’s just buried under years of pain.”

“It’s . . . it’s not that,” I tell her honestly. “I’m angry at my father. He’s forcing me to be here, to fall in love with Creed.”

“Nobody can make you fall in love with someone,” Mallory tells me with a small smile. “That’s your heart, your mind. Trust me when I tell you, there are times you love someone and believe they’re meant for you, but they’re not.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

She nods slowly. “Long ago, I fell in love with a man who wasn’t really mine to have. I did something stupid and ended up hurting a lot of people. Love comes to you when you least expect it. And, at times, it even comes when you believe you’ll never love anyone.”

“Creed locked me in a cage tonight. He toyed with my emotions, with me as a person.” I don’t know why I’m telling her all this, but the words just tumble free.

“Creed has a strange sense of humor. He has a very troubled way of dealing with his feelings, and sometimes, his social norms aren’t the same as ours.”

“I’m just not used to all this. I grew up around violence, and I also grew up learning about the rules that came with my father’s job, but I didn’t realize I would have to throw my future away for him.”

Mallory settles on the chair at the desk, not far from where I’m standing, still close to the window, so if I turned my head, I would be able to see Creed talking to a girl. Another woman with red hair. And deep down, I don’t want to admit the jealousy that’s coursing through me. I want to tamp it down, lock it away in the same place all my other secrets lie.

“Why would it be throwing your future away?” she asks. “Creed may be difficult to handle,