Page 14 of Forbidden War (Forbidden 2)
KARINA
Dinner last night was a tense,mostly silent affair. I suppose I might have felt more uncomfortable if most of the dinners at my uncle’s house weren’t exactly like it. Afterward, I went to the library to read until finally dragging myself to bed just before midnight.
Marco was absent from our bed once again. Not that I expected him to suddenly return after the ground rules I set earlier.
As I laid there, sleeplessly staring up at the ceiling, I began to second-guess myself. Speaking up is foreign for me, and maybe I’d only made things worse. In fact, I was sure that I had. What husband wants to be told by his wife that sex is off the table? But at the same time, I reasoned, Marco married me on false pretenses, so our entire relationship is a lie. Why should I have to continue giving up my body freely in this situation?
Unsurprisingly, I barely slept.
Waking up today, my insides feel twisted up, my body humming with restlessness. This house is very quickly becoming yet another cage for me. Considering I’ve been mostly confined to this bedroom, the library, or the dining room, I’m dying to get out of here. I need to move, to get some air. To take some space for myself. This huge house feels completely claustrophobic.
I tug my leggings on under the same V-neck I borrowed from Marco yesterday, but as I’m getting ready to go to the dining room for breakfast, the bedroom door opens and closes with a bang. I watch in the bathroom mirror as Marco crosses the room and then comes to stand in the doorway.
“We’re going to talk terms. I’d like to clarify some things,” he says.
He sounds bored. Tension snaps between us and it sucks. Things have always felt so open and easy before, but now, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.
“Like what?” I say, fussing with my hair just to give myself something to do.
“Bedroom situation, ground rules, however you want to do this,” he says.
Working to keep the wobble out of my voice, I say, “Okay.”
I can’t stand to look him in the eye right now. I don’t want to be swayed by his presence, his steely gaze, his scent. Marco leans a shoulder against the frame and lets out a long breath.
“Look, I’m happy to play along with your demands, but I don’t understand why you’re punishing both of us, considering the fact that you want the sex as much as I do.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks. I can’t deny the truth of that. But I’m going to anyway.
“Everything about us is a lie, Marco. Sex isn’t just a…a physical act for me, and even if it was, I’m not the kind of woman to let a man disrespect me and use me for my body just because it feels good.”
A sound comes out of him that sounds a bit sarcastic. “Jesus, Karina. I do respect you. It’s not about that. But listen to yourself, getting on your high horse. Shit, before I met you, you’d never even been kissed. And now you’re telling me you want to throw away the connection we have, the pleasure I can give you, and for what? To make a point?”
“Sounds to me like you’re pouting because you won’t be getting your dick sucked,” I snipe back, letting all my pent-up anger and humiliation and—yes, fine—sexual frustration get the best of me.
He smirks. “Oh, that part won’t be a problem. I’d just rather get off at home.”
His words hit me like a slap. Damn him. Enough.
I rip my eyes away from the mirror and turn to scowl at him. He’s smug, his hands shoved loosely in the pockets of his dress pants. I might be naïve, but I’m not oblivious to what he’s implying. That he’d be happy to cheat on me. I don’t respond as I move past him and stalk into the bedroom, past the bed, over to the window where I sulk. He follows me.
“You’ve said your piece, now I’ll say mine,” he says, grabbing my upper arm firmly and turning me toward him. “You’re not to leave the property without my permission. This is your only safe zone. Since you’ve decided to stay, you’ll obey the rules I’ve set to guarantee your protection and well-being, and you won’t question them.”
All I can do is glare in response. So this is what our shitty marriage looks like going forward: not unlike my old life. I’m trapped. Confined, yet again, for my own “safety.” Except this time, I don’t know if I’ll even be granted allowances to leave the Bellanti grounds. At least my uncle let me out semiregularly, even if it was with chaperones and personal drivers.
Knowing I chose this particular cage for myself doesn’t make it feel any less restrictive.
“Do you agree?” Marco prods.
“Fine. Yes. I agree.”
Without warning, he grabs my other arm and pulls me tight against him. I gasp, my hands going flat against his chest. The warmth of his breath washes over my neck as he dips his head down, his lips brushing my ear, his hips lightly grinding against mine.
“You sure you want to give this up?” he whispers.
Desire floods me instantly. My tongue can lie but my body can’t. I don’t want to give it up. He’s only just introduced me to pleasure, and now I’m going to deny myself. But it’s a small price to pay to keep some semblance of pride and self-ownership.
The bulge in his pants presses against the apex of my thighs. Little tingles burst in my center at the contact. Stay strong, I silently tell myself.
“Yes,” I lie, pulling away from him. “I’m positive.”
Still breathing quicker than I’d like, I cross my arms over my chest.
Marco just shrugs. “Your call. And by the way, this house doesn’t need to be your prison. It’s your home. But it’s up to you what you make of it.”
I let out a disgusted huff. “What am I supposed to do all day? There’s nothing here for me but the library, and most of those books are crumbly and old, not to mention nonfiction.”
Marco’s lips twitch, as if he’s holding back a laugh. Bastard. How dare he find amusement in my suffering.
He clears his throat. “The vineyards are lovely for walking. There are various trails. There are horses. The pool is heated. You may garden, as I mentioned before, and—”
“So I can walk or ride or plant flowers in endless circles, essentially?”
Marco doesn’t respond. His expression shifts, hardens. Reaching into his back pocket, he withdraws his wallet and opens it. He pulls a thick, metallic black card out and all but shoves it into my hand.
“Here. Why don’t you go ahead and amuse yourself by shopping, like every other woman does,” he says.
“Where am I even allowed to go shopping?”
“I have no doubt that the world wide web can easily provide you with whatever you might dream of,” he says dryly.
The credit card is heavy, the feel of it almost uncomfortable, but not more so than the cruel, condescending tone of Marco’s voice.
He is very quickly turning into somebody I don’t recognize.
“One more thing. We are having a small gathering here tomorrow to unveil my new race car. I’ll arrange for somebody to take you into town to find something appropriate to wear.”
With that, he leaves.
Pissed off at Marco and determined to treat myself, I flop onto the bed with my cell in hand and use my new black card to order all of Jane Austen’s books online from an independent bookstore in Portland that I love. With express shipping and all. Then I do a little Google research before buying a bunch of heinously expensive chocolate from an artisanal shop in Switzerland. Having blown through a few hundred dollars in less than twenty minutes, I get an instant high. But once the heady rush tapers off, I realize that I haven’t improved my situation much at all. I don’t know what else to even buy.
