Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liana
Iwake to the smell of something delicious.
For half a second, memories slam into me from the night before.
My wedding night, this hotel room and his hands shackling me to the wall.
The shame of kneeling and the lie of not liking it rush through my body.
I sit up quickly in bed and immediately see the tray.
My stomach grumbles. Strawberries coated in dark chocolate, a bowl of yogurt with granola and grapes heaped in a huge pile sit on a metal tray.
For a minute, I just stare at it, trying to decipher what is being played now.
The sunlight shines through the curtains, stinging my eyes, and for a moment, I just want to stay curled under the covers and refuse to participate in whatever new game he’s cooked up.
But my hunger wins out, so I sit up straighter, pushing the tangle of sheets down to my hips and lean over to grab a handful of grapes.
I pop one into my mouth, savoring the crisp burst of sweetness and the shock of cold against my teeth.
“Mmm,” I moan out loud as I crunch another one into my mouth.
The bathroom door swings open, causing me to jump, and Rio strides out, barefoot with a towel slung low around his hips.
‘Jesus, how many showers does this man need?’
I choke a little on the grape, half from surprise, half because he looks like a fucking sculpture.
His shoulders are broad, his skin slick and golden and that V-shaped cut…
it’s so sharp it should come with a warning label.
For a moment, I just stare. He’s so unfairly hot it makes me want to claw my own eyes out.
He sees me looking and grins. A slow, evil curve that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
He even makes that look sexy and I hate him for it.
I roll my eyes and glance away, but the image of him is burned onto the inside of my eyelids.
He stalks toward the bed confidently, never breaking eye contact with me.
“See something you like, Datura?” he asks, voice smug.
“Absolutely not,” I say, as cool as I can, and shove another grape into my mouth.
‘Lie.’
He laughs like he knows I’m a liar. It’s a real one too, and the sound slices through the awkwardness like a blade.
Then before I can react, he moves fast, gripping my chin hard between his fingers as he holds me in place and sucks the grape straight from my lips…
with his mouth. I can feel his lips close around mine as he does it, his tongue swiping in between my lips obscenely as he does it.
Heat pools between my legs and I find myself clenching them together in search of friction.
“Liar,” he whispers, smirking as he pulls away, chewing the grape slowly. He backs away, but the heat he leaves behind is nuclear. My cheeks flame, and I hate myself for the way my thighs are still squeezed together under the sheets.
Then, it’s as if a switch is flipped. He gestures at the breakfast tray, his tone abruptly businesslike.
“Eat. Then get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”
I blink, unsure if I heard right.
“Leaving? Where are we going?”
He gives me a look that says I’m an idiot for even asking.
“Home,” he says blankly.
The word hits me weirdly. Home. Like there’s ever been a home for me in Arizona.
“Already?”
He laughs again, and this time there’s more bite to it.
“That's what you want isn't it, Datura? Surely you don't want to spend another day with me, performing your wifey duties? But we can stay…"
I narrow my eyes on him. He’s mocking me and enjoying it.
“Take me back home,” I say as I get up and push past him into the bathroom.
“Hurry up, princess. We have a schedule,” he yells from behind, still in that mocking tone.
The sound of the word princess makes me want to go back and throw the entire bowl of grapes at his head. But instead, I shut the bathroom door behind me and lock it. I hear a low chuckle from the other side and roll my eyes.
We don’t speak on the drive back. He plays awful music and taps his fingers on the steering wheel the entire time, never once looking at me.
If I didn’t know any better I would swear he’s doing it on purpose.
I stare out the window, counting the cactus plants and memorizing the shapes of the mountains, determined not to think about the way he tasted last night or the way my body betrayed me when he touched me.
He’s right about one thing. I am such a liar.
We stop in front of the massive estate, and Rio cuts the engine. He still doesn’t say anything, just gets out, slams the door, and starts toward the entrance. I follow without a word.
The first thing that hits me is how familiar the house smells and how at ease I feel walking into it again. What the hell is wrong with me?
‘This is your prison Liana. You aren’t allowed to feel safe here.’
Rio walks away from me without so much as a peep and disappears around the corner.
My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. I don’t know what I was expecting.
Maybe for him to lock me up in a cage and use me for his pleasure whenever he wants?
That thought should send me screaming for the hills.
Instead I find myself imagining it in vivid detail, my panties already soaked with arousal.
I scowl at myself and head for the stairs.
My room isn’t where it used to be. The princess suite I occupied when I first arrived is empty now, bed stripped clean and curtains tied off.
There’s no sign I ever existed there. I check the bathroom on instinct, but it’s also been scrubbed clean.
It’s like I died and no one bothered to tell me. And where is Pita?
I check the other rooms but they all look the same as before.
Out of curiosity, I head for the forbidden wing.
Maybe Rio can tell me where my stuff is.
I check his office and a few other rooms, one of which is locked, before hitting the last door at the end.
I haven’t ever been in here before but Rio isn’t around to stop me so I open it anyway.
Inside I find a huge master suite. The ceiling is so high it makes you dizzy to look at it.
The bed is enormous with four posts built like pillars.
There’s a fireplace, but I don’t know why.
It’s hot as hell here. Who would want to light a fire?
There’s also a set of doors that lead out to a private balcony.
Beyond that, the mountains and the city.
My curiosity piques as I walk around, inspecting. My things are already here. Everything neatly arranged in the walk-in closet. A few of my books are placed on one of the nightstands like they had been there all along.
I spend the next hour organizing my things the way I like, staking small claims on the space.
The truth is, everything was already placed perfectly, and that annoys me even more.
It’s busy work, but it helps keep my mind off other things.
If I can’t control anything else right now, I can at least control where I choose to keep my underwear.
A soft knock at the door jolts me back to reality. I freeze, then cross the room and open it a crack. Pita stands there with a nervous smile and I missed her so much, I don’t have the heart to be mad at her. I immediately wrap my arms into her for a hug and she relaxes and hugs me back.
“I take it you aren’t angry with me, mija?”
“I’m angry,” I say as I pull away. “But not with you. I know you didn’t have a choice. I just don’t understand why he did what he did.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons.”
I scowl at Pita, making her laugh.
“I think you were just the delivery he needed, mija.”
Her statement confuses me but I don’t have time to respond as she continues to speak.
“Dinner will be ready in an hour. Rio will meet you in the dining room.”
I nod, and she retreats without another word.
I close the door, lean my forehead against it, and laugh to myself.
It’s not a happy laugh or even a broken one.
It’s just a laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation.
Here I am, the day after my wedding, expecting to be married to an old man and at his beck and call.
Instead, I’m married to a sexy cartel prince who hasn’t made an appearance all day.
Dinner comes and goes. Rio doesn’t show. Instead, it’s me and a table long enough to seat a board of directors. Every time I hear a door creak or a footstep in the hall, my heart skips. I try not to care, but I do. I hate that I do.
Afterwards, I take a scalding shower and stand inside the massive closet, torn between pajamas and the world’s most aggressive negligee.
What am I even doing? I don’t like this man.
I may have fallen for him but he’s a damn liar so why am I trying to seduce him?
I compromise with an old t-shirt and the softest shorts I own.
I glance at the four-poster bed, half expecting to find him sprawled there, waiting to finish what he started in the hotel this morning when he stole the grape right from my lips.
But the bed is empty, and the silence is so thick I could drown in it.
I spend the next hour curled on the window seat, staring at the moonlit garden, attempting to read. Instead, I find myself wondering where Rio is. What is he thinking? Is he even thinking about me at all?
When it gets late enough, I finally pull back the sheets and crawl into bed.
Sleep seems far away as I toss and turn on the large mattress.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, I finally drift off.
My last conscious thought is that I might be wrong…
being alone in this bed may be worse than sharing it with a monster.
Morning comes faster than I thought it would. When I wake, I get up, dress, and wait. Nothing happens. The day goes on like any other. Rio didn’t sleep here…that much I’m certain of.
Three days go by the same way. Three days of walking around the estate pretending not to care that I’ve barely seen my husband since the morning after we got back.
The routine is always the same: I wake up alone, eat breakfast alone, wander the endless, echoing halls, and then curl up on the window seat at sunset, hoping he might show.
It’s not like I haven’t seen him, it’s just that he’s practically ignored my existence every time.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of him from the balcony, striding across the garden on a phone call, or coming in the side door with blood on his knuckles.
Faint bruises trace his body but when I attempt to speak to him about them, I’m gifted with the shortest answers imaginable. He’s treating me like a leper.
On the third night, I lose it.
It’s the sound of breaking glass that finally pushes me over the edge. I’m in the library, attempting to read, when I hear the sharp sound of something shattering and then a string of curses in Spanish. I throw the book aside and follow the noise through the house.
His office door is open, the smell of alcohol in the air.
Rio stands in the middle of the room, blood running down his fingers from a fresh cut.
He’s glaring at the shards of a broken glass on the rug.
For a second, I’m tempted to turn and run.
He looks like a psychopath standing there all bruised and bloody. I don’t run though. Not this time.
“What the hell is your problem?” I demand, crossing the threshold and slamming the door behind me.
He looks up, surprised to see me.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Maybe I got tired of being ignored,” I snap, advancing on him. “Or maybe I just wanted to see what the cartel prince finally broke.”
He wipes the blood on his shirt, not even flinching.
“You want me to break something? Fine. I’ll start with you.”