5. Ravenna
Ravenna
S cars, tattoos, melted flesh…all I can think about is how much pain is etched into his skin. Who did that to him? Are those from wounds he received in battles with my family, or was it someone else?
However he got hurt, those scars are obviously a sore spot judging by the look of shame and fear in his eyes, and his anger. I won’t forget that sight anytime soon.
Just like I won’t forget the way he tenderly… made love to me. That was not fucking, by my limited understanding. It only hurt for a moment, and I’m now sore, but the pleasure outweighed the pain. By a lot. Which is a delightful surprise.
The way he treated me was not at all what I expected. He has a quick switch from asshole, to caring lover, back to total stronzo . Moody and unpredictable—that’s what I’ve learned about the stranger that is my husband.
He has an Irish temper, and a sharp tongue to go with it. But his touch is something that I crave. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
God give me strength.
I startle awake, my gaze landing on Cian who sits in an armchair across the room, staring at me.
He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and dark wash jeans, his hair freshly washed and pulled back at the nape of his neck.
The dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn’t slept.
But it’s morning. Sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains.
“Were you watching me sleep?” I pull the covers up to my chin, awkwardly aware of my nudity in the light of day.
“Yeah,” he admits without a hint of guilt.
“Why?”
He shrugs those enormous shoulders. “When was your last period?”
My brows dip. “Why? That’s kind of a personal ques?—”
“I need to know when you’re ovulating and when you’re not.” His expression’s guarded, unreadable.
“Oh.” I glance away from him. “I just finished a couple of days ago.”
“Then you won’t be ovulating while we’re here, which means I won’t touch you again. Not for another couple of weeks.”
That statement grabs my attention. “Why not? I mean… I don’t mind if you want to touch me.”
“Don’t lie.”
I sit up in bed and lick my dry lips. “I’m not. If you’re worried that I won’t want to, now that I’ve seen your scars, you don’t have to wor?—.”
“Don’t!” he snaps. “Don’t ever mention my scars again.” Rage flashes in his cold eyes.
“I’m trying to tell you that they don’t bother me. That I still want you,” I argue back.
“Well I don’t want you!” Cian stands up, pacing the room like a caged lion.
I clamp my mouth shut, enraged that he can be so terrible after the intimate night we had together. Did our coming together not affect him at all? Or was I really so bad in bed that he only wants me when it’s time to do our marital duty?
That must be it. But it was my first time, what did he expect?
Even with that rationale, hopelessness crushes my chest. My eyes sting. I will not cry in front of this brute. He doesn’t get my tears.
Emboldened by fury, I shove off the blanket and stand, proudly showing him everything he absolutely is not touching again this week. Whether he wants me or not.
His heated glare drinks in my curves. So, he does want me. With a huff, I saunter to the bathroom, swaying my hips. The big Irishman follows, and I have the immense satisfaction of shutting the door in his face. For good measure, I lock it.
Cazzo bastardo!
Ugh, he makes me so, so… livid!
Maybe I should have given him what he wanted and cowered in his presence, pretending that his scars frightened me, that I can’t bear to look at him.
I scoff at myself in the mirror. My brother was about Cian’s age and he had plenty of scars too, ones he liked to rub in my face, to try to scare me with when the nasty wounds were still healing.
I’ve seen knife cuts and gunshot wounds, acid burns and shrapnel damage.
Physical mutilations don’t frighten me. How shallow does Cian think I am?
Actually, I don’t care what he thinks of me. He can go to hell.
I take my time in the shower, doing my best to calm down as I wash my hair and body. When I’m finished, I still don’t feel like facing him, so I blow dry my hair and moisturize my skin from head to toe. This place has some very nice toiletry products.
Wrapping myself in a plush white robe, I march into the main room, only to find it empty. Well, empty of him. There are about thirty shopping bags on the floor, all with designer logos on them.
The sight brings me to a sudden halt. Lifting one, I peek inside, finding black lacy underwear in my size. Silk. Very nice, and expensive. He must have dropped a hundred grand or more.
Can we say… mixed messages? Ugh. I don’t understand this Irish testa di cazzo at all. I’m doubtful I ever will.
Dressing in a new pair of linen pants with a silk top, I add a thin sweater and heeled sandals. January in the Florida Keys is not exactly what I’d call warm, but it’s a refreshing change from New York’s dreary weather.
The bungalow sits right on the beach. Sunlight shines down from a blue sky, waves gently roll across the sand, and palm trees provide spots of shade. I make my way toward the main building and spa. If I’m stuck here for a week, I may as well take myself on vacation.
But first, I need to call home.
I glance around, making sure no one’s within earshot before pressing my mother’s contact on my phone. She answers after the first ring.
“Sweetheart, how are you?”
“I’m okay. Have you heard from E—my sister yet?”
Mama’s silent for a long moment. “No. She’s missing. I think she ran away from home.”
That just… doesn’t seem like something Elena would do. She’s a home-body, her books are more precious to her than anything else. I just don’t see her up and leaving, especially without taking her most prized possessions with her. And she has no money. She can’t survive on her own. So where is she?
“If Elena isn’t at home pretending to be me, then where does Papa think I am?”
Another extended pause. “I’m so sorry. I had to tell him the truth. He’s a little upset—” Which means he’s furious. “—but he does agree that we did the right thing. O’Rourke can never know about the swap. I’m going to tell anyone who asks that my daughter Ravenna is in Italy visiting family.”
I inwardly groan, and close my eyes. This is getting more and more complicated. “What happens if she comes home?”
“I’ll inform her that she’s now Ravenna and she just returned from Italy, and that you’re Elena and you married O’Rourke in her place. Everything will be fine.”
“Sure.” Doubtful .
“Oh, and R—Elena, please be your most charming self with Mr. O’Rourke. He’s not the type of man who wants a sassy, stubborn wife. Do try to be more like your sweet sister.”
I roll my eyes. Like I haven’t heard that all of my life. I give her my usual response, “Of course, Mother.”
“How are you two getting along?”
“I hate him.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Arranged marriages can be difficult in the beginning.
It took me a long time to adjust to being with your father, but we worked it out.
You will too. Just be obedient and have faith.
Your husband knows best. Remember that and everything will be fine.
Plus, I’m so looking forward to having a grandbaby. Have you two… started trying yet?”
“Yes, Mama. We consummated our marriage last night.”
“That’s a relief. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but you won’t have to endure it often unless he’s a pervert.
Once you’re pregnant he’ll leave you alone, and once you give him a few children he’ll forget about you all together.
That’s the way of things. Something to look forward to for sure. ”
Confusion gnaws at me, but I keep my questions to myself. “Okay. Call me if you hear from my sister.”
“Of course I will. Try to enjoy your honeymoon and stay on your husband’s good side. Chat soon.” She hangs up.
I sigh. Am I weird for having enjoyed the physical pleasures of last night?
Maybe I am. That would explain why Cian doesn’t want to touch me again, because he didn’t enjoy it.
Perhaps both men and women generally don’t take pleasure in the act?
I suppose it’s possible. I guess I’m some kind of sexual freak.
Ugh, why am I thinking about that huge bastard when I should be trying to figure out what’s going through my sister’s head?
What is Elena thinking? Why run? I mean, sure, marrying a stranger, especially our enemy, takes courage, but Elena has always been the obedient one.
She wouldn’t run away. In my gut, I know that’s the truth.
Something is very wrong, and I’m not in any position to figure out what it is right now. Once this stupid honeymoon is over, and we’re back in New York, I’m going to find out what happened to my sister.