Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Isla
Moments later, I’m alone, but they haven’t closed the door behind them. The soft click of their footsteps fades down the hall, leaving me clutching the mug, its warmth seeping into my palms.
I take another drink, more to give myself something to do than anything else. The coffee is perfection, a quiet reminder of Dorian’s unsettling attentiveness. How had he accomplished that so quickly?
And more…why?
Last night, after his argument with Brennan, he’d fucked me raw and walked away. Now he’s fetching me coffee, providing clothing, taking care of me like some twisted savior.
Sighing, I set the mug down. The clink against the nightstand seems too loud in the silence.
Not knowing when they’ll be back, I toss back the sheet and hurry toward my robe, tying the knot before I’ve finished pulling the material tight .
The pale blue dress Brennan brought lies folded at the end of the bed, the lace undergarments stacked beside it—delicate, intimate.
I pick up the panties. They’re the size and style I usually wear. The dress is also the right size, as is the lacy bra.
Obviously he looked at my lingerie and wedding gown. Except…I’d been wearing Margaux’s dress. He’d apparently made a guess—a correct one—about what actually fits me.
“Isla!” Dorian calls. “Need help?”
God no. “I’ll be there soon!”
I dress slowly, deliberately, the lace sliding against my skin like a secret I can’t unlearn. The dress hugs me, showcasing the very few curves that I actually have. The cut, the fit… They’re both flattering. It’s something I would have chosen for myself.
Not that I can afford to be that extravagant on a teacher’s salary. I saw the label. Now that I’m away from my mother, I don’t even step inside stores that carry the brand.
Then I go into the bathroom to splash water onto my face.
My eyes are shadowed, and my hair is a wild, untamed mess. Half of it is still in the fancy updo, and other strands are hanging everywhere in long curls.
Less than forty-eight hours before, I was curled up on my bed, Calypso purring next to me while I enjoyed reading and working on my lesson plans.
And now my body aches, and I’m tender from last night’s…whatever it was. Dorian considerately taking my virginity, Brennan’s steady touch, the way I shattered between them. Then later, Dorian took me again with nothing but passion after I pushed him so hard.
This marriage is going to be heaven and hell.
Realizing there’s no way I can repair the damage to my hair without a brush and lots of time, I reposition a few bobby pins so that my hair looks somewhat tamed.
When I enter the living room, Dorian puts down his coffee cup and stands to greet me. Brennan is near a large, room-service type cart that’s loaded with pastries and fruit, hot water, tea, coffee, and chilled juices.
“You look beautiful.”
His compliment is unexpected, and I momentarily glance away to hide my blush. I know I’m not beautiful, but I appreciate him being polite.
“Blue is definitely your color,” Dorian tells me.
It matches my mood. Somehow, I manage to clamp my mouth shut before saying the words aloud. “Thank you. But I have plenty of my own clothes. There’s no need to spend money on me.”
A dangerous tic throbs in his temple.
“Something to eat?” Brennan suggests, cutting through the tension.
Even though I’m not really hungry, I probably should eat something. I’m not sure when I’ll have the chance again. If nothing else, I welcome the distraction from dueling with the man whose ring is too big on my finger. “Fruit sounds good.”
He begins loading up a plate with strawberries and blueberries. “Yogurt?”
“Thank you.” I nod.
As I move toward him, I notice a small mess on the floor. Wondering where it came from, I glance at the wall.
There’s a hole in it.
I look from Dorian to Brennan. “What happened?”
The answer is glaringly obvious since the damage resembles the shape and size of a fist.
Neither man responds.
But then I notice what I’d missed earlier in the bedroom .
Brennan’s knuckles are bruised and a little bloody.
The wall hadn’t looked like that when I tiptoed down the hall last night to eavesdrop on their argument. So whatever it was had continued since then. Or started again.
Once more, I look between the two of them. Does the damage have anything to do with me? Or whatever Brennan had cryptically been referring to right before Dorian noticed I was there?
Something clearly pushed him over the edge. I know he’s loyal to Dorian, and I’ve seen nothing but restraint from him. Stupidly, maybe, I still feel safe with him. But I’m more guarded than I was before.
“Anything else?”
Belatedly I notice Brennan is extending the plate toward me. “Looks perfect.” I try to summon a smile, but I fail totally.
“Housekeeping packed your things in my suitcase,” Dorian tells me.
“Things?” Turning to him, I frown. “What things?”
“Wedding dress. Shoes.”
Oh. Not my belongings. Margaux’s.
He shrugs and adds, “Frilly things.”
I never want to look at them again. “You could have left them behind.”
His smile is more of a snarl. “You don’t want them for our future daughter?”
At the reminder that he wants to get me pregnant, I put down my plate before I can drop it. Suddenly I have no appetite. “Wasn’t something I chose.”
“Not something either of us chose.”
“We could…” I take a breath.
He studies me.
“End this before it goes any further.”
“Isla…” Brennan warns softly .
What is it with me pushing the man I married?
In an instant, Dorian is there, imprisoning my shoulders.
“To be clear. You belong to me. Me.” Then he glances at Brennan. “Us. The fact neither of us made the decision doesn’t make it any less of a reality. Nothing will undo it.” His voice drips with an arctic chill. “Am I clear?”
Unable to find my voice, I swallow deeply.
He gives me a gentle shake. “Am I clear?”
How I wish my courage hadn’t suddenly deserted me.
“I mentioned a spanking yesterday. God help me, woman, if you keep pushing me, you’ll feel my wrath.”
“As if I didn’t last night?”
“That was…” He releases me. But instead of taking a step back, he sweeps a knuckle across my cheekbone. “You deserve better.”
His admission stuns me, making me blink.
“I’m sorry.”
Sorry?
Once more, I’m speechless, wondering who this softer, gentler version of Dorian is.
Or is his pretty behavior all an act to keep me guessing? Or do Brennan’s knuckles have something to do with it?
Dorian’s phone rings, and he excuses himself before stepping outside to answer.
“As I told you, he’s not always a world-class dick,” Brennan says.
“Just most of the time?”
He glances to the door that just closed. Then he grins, taking years off his age and pain out of his expression. “Yeah.”
“So what happened?” When he doesn’t answer, I clarify, “With the wall?”
“You’ll need to ask Dorian about that. ”
I tip back my chin. “I’m asking you. You know he’ll never answer me.”
“He needs to.”
“Is it about me?”
“No.” He drags a hand through his hair, and I see a war play out across his face. “Not entirely.”
So I had been involved somewhat? Expectantly I wait, hoping he’ll go on.
But he shakes his head. “He needs to tell you.”
I’ve never been good with vague answers. “Were you defending me?”
“Isla…”
Always he’s trying to warn me, keep me safe. “This is my life now. Please don’t keep me in the dark. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
For long moments, he doesn’t answer. Then he responds, “I reminded him of a few inconvenient truths.”
“To which he objected?”
He says no more.
“Do I owe his apology to you?”
“Again—”
“I’ll need to ask Dorian,” I finish for him.
“Yeah.”
“I guess better the wall than his face?”
“Always.”
That’s probably as close to an admission as I’ll ever get from him.
Loyalty. He’d said that word last night, and clearly it does run deep between them. I believed him when he told me he’d die for Dorian.
At that moment, my legally wedded husband walks back into the guesthouse, bringing a wave of heat, humidity, and tension with him. He looks between the two of us, and his expression hardens. “Something going on here?”