Hopefully by now, Rosa is fast asleep in bed and won’t hear me going into the ensuite to grab a quick shower. I take off my suit jacket and throw it over an armchair before heading towards the bedroom. But to my chagrin, when I enter the room, the infuriating woman is still in her wedding dress staring at her reflection via a standing black framed mirror, as if she knows its only purpose is to torment me.
Pissed that I’ll have to go without my shower since she’s still awake, I grab a pillow off the bed and start heading back to the living room.
“What are you doing?” she asks, turning around to face me.
“What does it look like?”
“Aren’t you going to sleep in here? With me?”
“Do you want me to?” I counter with a dry tone.
“You are my husband now. Don’t husbands share the same bed with their wives?” she retorts instead of answering my question.
“Not all husbands. I know many couples who sleep in separate beds and are perfectly content.”
She chews on her bottom lip in deep thought, unaware that the nervous gesture provokes salacious thoughts of my own teeth piercing through the same soft flesh.
“That may be true,” she begins somewhat hesitantly, “but I doubt they started off that way. Especially on their wedding night.”
“I’ll ask you again. Would you prefer that I stay?”
Her chin tilts upwards as if remembering herself and who she is dealing with.
“Whether you stay or don’t is completely up to you. I would, however, prefer that you didn’t insinuate I have any vote on the matter,” she bites back. “We both know I don’t.”
There is that spirit again.
Alejandro should have taught his sister that if she insisted on poking at a caged animal, sooner or later, not even the bars keeping it hostage would protect her.
Instead of entertaining this conversation any further, I pick up a discarded blanket on a nearby settee and start to head out of the room.
“Wait,” she half-whispers, half-yells.
“Yes?” I turn around.
“I’m not going to beg you to stay, if that’s your intention. In all honesty, I’m extremely tired and look forward to a good night’s rest.”
“Then you shall have it,” I mutter, starting to walk back out.
“But,” she adds forcefully, stopping me again from getting out of the room. “If I’m to do that, I’ll need some help getting out of this dress. I won’t grab a wink of sleep tonight with it on.”
“Are you asking me for help?” I ask suspiciously, thinking that somehow this is some sort of trap.
She turns her back to me and points at the ties holding up her white corset that are impossible for her to reach on her own.
“I’ve been trying to untie this dress for the past hour with no luck. If you can’t do it for me, then you’ll leave me no choice, and I’ll have to ask one of your guards outside to help me out instead.”
“Careful,” I warn, pointing a threatening finger her way. “I’m not one for ill-humored jokes or manipulation.”
I’d sooner grab my knife and cut her out of the damn dress than have any one of my men lay a finger on it.
“It’s not one or the other. It’s mere desperation. Will you help me or not?” she exclaims, perching her hands on her hips.
Seeing that she’s being sincere in her exasperation, I throw the blanket and pillow back on top of the bed and begin to bridge the gap between us. She turns to face the mirror once more, squaring her shoulders to look impassive as I draw nearer to her, but I know it’s all for show.
She’s nervous.
Agitated.
But then again, it’s expected since most brides usually are on their wedding night. Especially when they are about to let their husband see them naked for the first time. A rite of passage that I think Rosa would have preferred to have skipped altogether.
Sensing her unease with the whole situation, I harshly pull at the garment with more force than needed, making her gasp in surprise. Since I’m a good few inches taller than her, I have a perfect view of the swell of her breasts, her chest slowly heaving up and down as she tries to control her shallow breathing.
“Do I make you nervous, Rosa?”
When she doesn’t answer me, I give one of the ties another tight pull, making her gasp out again.
“I believe that’s a yes.” I smirk.
“Any woman would be nervous around a total stranger taking her clothes off,” she counters once she’s gained control of herself.
“I see you haven’t had many one-night stands, otherwise you wouldn’t say that,” I goad.
She raises her head upwards to catch my eyes with hers, searing contempt plastered to her face.
“You know I haven’t. And insinuating that you have is not only cruel but distasteful.”
“Would you have rather I stayed celibate for the ten years I had to wait to marry you?”
“Why not? I was forced to,” she deadpans, those golden flecks like tiny daggers to my chest.
I’m not sure if it’s her confession of not having been touched by another man in the last decade that has me spiraling, but before I know what I’m doing, my eyes land on her mouth. Soft lips tantalize me, the bottom one fuller than its counterpart, begging to be tugged, sucked, and pulled. When she sees my tongue lick my suddenly parched lips, her breathing picks up, drawing my attention away from her luscious mouth back to the fullness of her breasts.
“There is no need for you to be nervous with me,” I say, my voice rough and telling. “I’m not a stranger. I’m your husband.”
“Right now, they are one and the same,” she replies despondently, lowering her gaze from me and onto the mirror in front of us.
“If that’s the case, then why were you disappointed at the fact that I would rather sleep on the couch than share a bed with you?”
“Who says I’m disappointed?”
“Are you saying you aren’t?”
“Disappointment was my father telling me at seventeen that I was to marry a man I’ve never met. A sworn enemy at that. Disappointment was me being sent out to live in a country where I have no family or friends to speak of. You wishing not to sleep in my bed on our wedding night pales in comparison. In fact, I’m sure it’s the only blessed reprieve I’ll get for what undoubtedly will be a life filled with more disappointments.”