Merciless Union by Faith Summers

18

Aria

Lucca didn’t come back yesterday.

I understood the absence throughout the day, but I thought I’d see him by nightfall.

Instead, it was Yuliana who told me he’d gone out.

Of course, I worried myself knowing the situation.

With the broken sleep I’ve had, I’m in the worse mood, which might also have something to do with the answer I’ve decided on.

I’m going to ask for my freedom, and I just want to get it over and done with, so I can end the war my heart continues to wage with my brain.

I make my way downstairs, where I find Yuliana making breakfast. It smells delicious, and I instantly think of Marylin.

We’d started making breakfast together, and her plan was to teach me a few Russian words at a time after the wedding.

“Good morning, Mrs. Dyshekov,” Yuliana greets me.

“Good morning.” I look over the feast she made. There are different types of eggs, bacon, an assortment of continental pastries, and French toast. It’s enough for a family of four.

“I was about to bring breakfast to your room. Mr. Dyshekov told me to make sure you’re comfortable.” She gives me a respectful smile. She’s much younger than Marylin. I peg her to be in her early thirties and the kind of woman who just does as she’s told.

“There’s no need to bring me breakfast. Where is he?” I look around. She made that order sound like he could have been here while she was cooking.

“He’s gone to the hospital to see Marylin. He said he’d see you in his office at eight tonight.” She looks a little uneasy as she speaks, and I wonder if she knows I’m having marital problems.

“Right. Eight.” I feel like some kind of client who has an appointment with him.

This also reminds me of weeks ago when everything was regimented, like in the military.

“Yes, Mrs. Dyshekov.”

“Please call me Aria. I’m not used to that name yet.” And I don’t want to get used to it either.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly call you by your first name. It wouldn’t feel right.”

“I insist.”

“Alright, I’ll try it. Please eat before the food gets cold. Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

I sit at the table and start serving myself while she makes coffee. There’s an unmistakable tension in the air I know she can feel. I’m sure anybody within the radius of this house and the surrounding perimeters can feel it, and it’s going to stay just like that all day until I speak to Lucca.

Leaving me like this is another form of torment.

But then, it’s me who is tormenting myself, not him.

* * *

At eight, I knock on his already opened office door and gaze at him sitting behind his desk, going through paperwork. He’s dressed in his biker jacket like he’s either going out or he just got in.

I can normally hear his motorcycle, but I was previously in the courtyard, so it would have been harder to hear.

I did all kinds of things today to pass the time and stop myself from going crazy.

Lucca doesn’t look at me straightaway, not until I’m a breath away from his grand mahogany desk.

When he finally stops rummaging through his paperwork and stares at me, a lock of hair hangs over his eye, making him look more alluring.

I can’t allow looks to sway me now or ever.

He runs a hand through his hair and pushes to his feet. My nerves spike when he walks around to me and stops inches away as if he might kiss me. I hope he doesn’t try. If he touches me in the slightest, it will rattle my brain.

“What’s your answer, Printsessa?” he asks, leaning in closer.

I lift my chin so I can stare him right in the eyes, so he knows I’m speaking from my soul.

“I want freedom, Lucca. I want it because I think I deserve to be out of this life of darkness. All my life, someone has hurt me one way or another, and the worse thing to happen to me is forgetting who my enemies are.” I continue to stare at him as he rivets his gaze to mine. “I want freedom and happiness. That’s what I choose. Will you give it to me?”

“Yes. I will give you freedom, Aria Dyshekov.” He says my name the same way he did when it was De Marchi. Not with distaste, but with an edge of defiance. Like he knows who I really am, even if I don’t. The effect is so much greater when he gives me that predatory smile. “But I want you to be my wife while you’re in my care.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we don’t stop fucking, or anything else we’re already doing. I want you while you’re with me, or it’s not happening.”

My lip’s part, and I glare at him, feeling my brain scramble with confusion. “What?”

“You heard me, wife.” He leans to my ear, and the warm presence of his body reminds me of how he consumed me nights ago. “As long as you’re under my care, you still belong to me, Aria Dyshekov.”

He moves back, leaving me speechless and dazed then I watch him walk away.

Be his while I’m under his care?

Bastard. I feel like I just entered a new game I don’t know how to play—his fucking game.

He’s making the rules up as we go along, and if I want my freedom, I have to play.

Damn him.