Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 10
“This is definitelywhere he tortures people.”
The small shack stares silently back at me, the green vines twisting and growing through the stone siding seeming to mock me as I converse with myself. It’s the only other building on the property, sitting far off to the side like the separation makes it somehow less conspicuous.
“You’re not fooling anyone, Kal,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes at the metal bars framing the opaque window and the boards nailed to the front door, barring entry.
What else could the building possibly be used for?
“Are you talking to yourself?” Marcelline calls from the window in the kitchen, close enough that she doesn’t have to scream.
“Yes, Marcelline, I am. You won’t give me a guided tour so I’m making it up as I go along.”
In truth, I’ve already scouted out the Asphodel three times since the day Kal left me in our room. I hadn’t planned on another round across the acreage, but since the internet here is spotty at best and I’m not fully interested in continuing the program I’m currently enrolled in at Boston U, I figured why not.
Marcelline, despite being a permanent fixture in the renovated hotel, refuses to participate.
She did, however, assist me in unpacking the belongings Kal had shipped to the island, though seeing the sets of lingerie I’d gotten at my bridal shower made her face flame the color of her hair.
Exhaling, I turn with my hands on my hips, surveying the rest of the yard: the concrete wall bordering the property and hedges left untrimmed, probably to deter peeping Toms; the stone patio with sparse furniture, a rusty charcoal grill, and a hot tub in need of a good cleaning; the partial garden across from the kitchen windows that seems to function as a bed of weeds only.
Just over the fence sits a stretch of beach, blue water kissing the distant horizon, making me more than a little homesick. Reaching into my pocket, I take out the phone Marcelline set up for me, pulling up one of the few contacts available.
My sister Ariana answers on the fourth ring, her face lighting up the screen as she shifts it into a video call. She has on an avocado face mask, and the sight causes a pang to slash across my heart—face masks and pedicures were our Friday night thing growing up, and not being there now to indulge in it with her is more than a little unnerving.
It’s not been long since I last saw her, and yet it feels like eons of time exist between us.
“There’s my favorite newlywed,” Ariana singsongs, barely moving her lips so the mask doesn’t crack. “How’s the world’s very first Mrs. Kal Anderson?”
“Slowly spiraling into insanity,” I say, casting another glance at the outbuilding.
“Oh, Jesus, what did you see?”
I frown. “What did I see?”
“Come on, you’ve been with Doctor Death for a week now. Tell me all about his little shop of horrors.”
Making my way back to the house, I slide open the glass patio door, stepping inside the kitchen. Marcelline is gone, so I flip the camera around, showcasing the room with its black marble countertops and stainless steel appliances.
A formal dining room sits through a doorway on the left, and a sunken family room with a huge stone fireplace and a white sectional with gold sides brackets the other exit from the kitchen.
There are no paintings or photos adorning the cream-colored walls. No dust dirtying the baby grand in the oval sitting room off the foyer, or the bookshelves in the library down the hall. No real evidence that anyone other than Marcelline existed here before I moved in, and I can’t help wondering why Kal owns such a large place if he doesn’t live in it.
When he is here, he locks himself in his office, not even coming out to join me for dinner. I’ve eaten every meal at the dining table in complete silence, staring at the window overlooking the luscious side yard, dreaming of all the ways I might one day escape.
“Yikes, it’s even creepier than I expected.” I switch the camera back, and Ariana raises her perfectly arched brows. “Where’s all his stuff? I didn’t even see a TV!”
Taking a seat at the rectangular island, I prop the phone against a fruit bowl and twist the diamond ring on my finger, shrugging. “I know. There’s one mounted in the bedroom, but it isn’t hooked up to a cable box or even the internet.”
“So weird. Does he not have hobbies?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She pauses, furrowing her brows. The orange flecks in her brown eyes shimmer as she shifts the phone, moving out of the direct sunlight on her balcony and heading back into her room. “That feels like an important piece of information to know about your husband.”
Chewing on my lip, I reach up and run the pad of my thumb over the bite mark Kal left on me the other day, concealer catching in the ridges of my fingerprint.
“He likes poetry,” I offer, knowing where the conversation is headed.
She clicks her tongue. “So do you. Pick something less boring. Something we don’t already know.”
“Hobbies aren’t something that have really come up, is all.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “Elena. Tell me you knew more about Kal than just the size of his dick before you married him.”
I sputter, dropping my hand from my neck. “What?”
“Come on, we all know about what happened at Christmas. Papá told us about your affare illecito. So very grown up and out of character for his little people pleaser.”
I bristle at the condescension dripping from her words. “I am not a people pleaser.”
“You so totally are. Not that any of us blame you; we all chose whatever defense mechanisms worked best against Papá. Yours happened to be the path of least resistance.”
Scoffing, I reach for a plum, plucking it from the bowl and biting into its purple flesh. “Well, Papá wasn’t pleased with how my wedding day turned out, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, God,” she groans, tipping her head back. “He really did steal you away from Mateo, just like Mamá said. What does he have on you and how can I help extract you from his clutches?”
“Jesus, Ari,” I say, sweat beading along my hairline and slicking down my back. “You make him sound like some sort of supervillain.”
“He is one! Don’t act like you’ve suddenly forgotten all the rumors about him, or the gossip we used to hear from Mamá and her sisters.”
Not husband material, I remembered one zia insisting, though I never quite understood why. How could a man with the face, body, and mind of a Greek god not be worthy of marriage?
I suppose if that Greek god were the one reigning over the Underworld, the way Kal seems to reign over everyone he comes into contact with.
But even Hades took a wife.
Emphasis on took.
Swallowing the bite of plum, I glance around the house again, its absolute emptiness echoing around me like a vast cavern, neglected by man. How it sometimes feels like the temperature drops at night, as if his ghosts come out to play when we’re supposed to be sleeping.
Maybe this is what they meant.
Men in the world of the mafia are all plagued by their demons. I can’t help wondering what exactly Kal’s might be, and if I’m here to act as a buffer between them.
“You know,” I say slowly, taking another bite of fruit. “I remember you mentioning wanting to hook up with Kal at the Christmas party.”
She makes a face. “And? Fucking someone and marrying them are two different things, E. You’d know that if you’d been with more than one person.” Pausing, her eyes glaze over for a moment, as if she loses herself in thought, then refocus in the next second. “Is that what happened? Did he seduce you and get you addicted to his cock?”
“Ariana.”
“What? It was your first time, presuming what Papá said about you and Mateo waiting was accurate. It makes sense you’d feel an unnatural, soul-deep connection to him.”
I chew on the plum silently, considering this. It would make sense, but it’d also suggest my motives behind accepting his forced proposal were actually less altruistic than I’d thought, and I don’t want to think about the fact that I’d probably have thrown my family to the wolves if only the dark-haired, sharp-jawed sociopath asked.
So, instead of doubling down on the realization, I shove it to the recesses of my brain and backpedal. “Wait. You said he stole me, just like Mamá said. What did you mean by that?”
“He hasn’t told you yet? Papá and Mamá slipped a tip to Bollente and a few other national news stations downtown, saying Kal slit Mateo’s throat and kidnapped you from your very own balcony. They’re offering a gigantic reward for any information on your whereabouts.”
I watch as she sets the phone down, dusting her eyelids with a soft gold shadow. My makeup bag sits upstairs in my packed suitcase, probably wasting away at this point—though where’s the sense in doing myself up for a man’s haphazard attention the few hours he’s actually home?
Maybe Nonna was right, and my generation really does give up early on in marriage.
Puzzlement twists my face up. “They know where I’m at. And even if they didn’t, I’m video chatting with you right now. How hard would it be to trace my location?”
“Harder than you think, apparently. Why else would Papá go to the trouble of drawing attention to himself?”
An uneasy feeling settles low in my belly, anchoring me to my fears. Something doesn’t feel quite right here.
I hang up with Ariana, assuring her that I’m fine and don’t need to be rescued just as the front door swings open, banging into the wall with such force the sink window rattles.
A few silent beats pass, and I half expect Kal to come in, even though seeking me out doesn’t seem to be part of his afternoon routine.
If I’d known being married to him was going to be this lonely…
“You’d what, Elena?” I mutter to myself, tapping my fingernails on the counter. The diamond on my finger sparkles under the pendant lighting, fracturing the shadows reflecting off of it. “He didn’t give you a choice. No one ever does.”
When another five minutes tick by, it becomes obvious he isn’t looking for me.
I slide off the barstool, toss my plum seed in the garbage, and go find him instead.
Tiptoeing down the hall, I try my best not to step on any creaking floorboards as I reach his office, tucked in a corner at the very end. Light spills out from beneath the door, and I turn the knob gently, pushing it open with the tip of my index finger.
He’s wearing navy scrubs, leaning over a huge wooden desk, one palm flattened on the surface to support his weight, the other curled around a crystal tumbler. His black hair hangs in wet strands, dripping onto his desk and soaking the neck of his shirt, as if he’s just stepped out of the shower.
My throat tightens just at the sight of his backside, the way the muscles in his biceps groan against the confines of his skin as if begging to break free.
God, what this man must look like naked.
A flash of red catches my eye as he shifts; it’s dull, splattered across the front of his pant legs, but it’s there, taunting me.
Reminding me that I know very little about the man I share a life with, and that it should terrify me.
Or looking for a way to escape.
“Leave, Elena.” His voice is a low rumble I feel inside my chest, commanding and sharp as it slices right through me. “I’m not in the mood for company.”
I should probably listen and find something else to do. Anything other than indulge the desire pooling in my core.
“Your wife is hardly company,” I say, pinching my thigh with two fingers in order to keep my voice from wavering. “And I’m bored.”
He sets the tumbler down, raising his head without turning to look at me. “Bored?”
“Yeah,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “You dropped me in this strange place and then ignored me completely.”
Swallowing over the mix of desire and nerves solidifying in my throat, I take a step inside the office, toying with the fabric of my robe. It’s rose pink and satin, matching the pajama set I have on beneath, and as I move closer, the silky material glides against my skin, cooling me where his presence sets me aflame.
“I know the concept of entertainment might be foreign to you,” I say. “But I need something to keep my attention. And all the books upstairs are ones I can recite by heart.”
“Shouldn’t you be studying?”
“Well… I withdrew from my courses.”
His head snaps to the side, eyebrows knitting together. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. It seemed… pointless. I’m not interested in teaching, and I can’t imagine trying to balance a career in education while being your prisoner.”
Turning slowly so he’s facing me, Kal stares down at me in silence, his dark gaze flickering back and forth between my eyes as if trying to figure me out.
Good luck.
“You’re not my prisoner,” he murmurs, something heavy settling in the air between us, making my bones seem dense and rendering me immobile. Electricity pulses in my blood, carrying it to the rest of my body as my heart falters, skipping a beat when he moves forward.
“Oh,” I breathe, my brain unable to form another word.
“But if you don’t turn around and leave right now, I’ll make you feel like one.”
