chapter 38
Iselyn
I’m avoiding Papa’s eyes as if I’ve done something I shouldn’t have, while all I did was things with my own husband that anyone could. For the same reason, I’m avoiding my eyes from this very husband of mine.
I don’t know why I’m feeling shy about it when we’ve gone further than this. Maybe it’s because I can’t label it as just physical.
Thankfully, dinner is over, and Matleon is leaving. I glance up at him, only to find him watching me with a mixed expression of satisfaction and heat—the genuine smile and intense gaze. I instantly look away.
He bids good night to my parents, then to me. “Good night, Angel.” The change in his voice is not subtle. I think he wants to get caught, because Papa will know instantly that something is off with his sudden cooing.
I nod, “Good night,” then press my lips together to stop them from smiling when he grins before leaving. I also get up from my chair, wish my parents an urgent good night, and rush to my room. I hear Mom chuckle behind me.
I shut the door and walk straight into the bathroom for a cold shower. Today was a very hot day.
After the shower, when I come out humming, I find Mom sitting on my bed with a grin.
“So, will you tell me the reason behind this?” she asks, pointing toward my face.
I act ignorant. “The reason for what?”
“This constant smile and the redness on your cheeks.”
I pat my cheeks. “Today was a hot day, so the redness is because of that. As for the smile, I made a little progress in the medicine I’ve been trying to perfect for the past four months,” I answer in a serious tone.
She chuckles. “I’m your mother, sweetheart. I know when the smile on my daughter’s face is because she’s made progress in her work, and when it’s because she’s really, really happy.”
I bite the corner of my lips, already grinning again. I sit down beside her. “Matleon said he loves me.” I decide to keep what I did next to myself.
Her brows rise slightly and her grin widens. She touches my cheek with her soft palm. “I’m so happy for you.” Her eyes start to glisten with tears.
I shake my head. “No, Mom, if you cry over it as well, I’m just going to die.”
She chuckles. I smile. My mom cries over everything that makes her either too happy or too sad.
She is the sweetest human in the world, and my Papa knows that very well.
To him, his wife is the greatest treasure he’s ever had, which is why he left everything behind just to have a life with Mom where she’s safe.
I’ve always wanted a love like theirs. The flutter in my stomach returns at the mere thought of love.
Mom gets up from the bed in an exceptionally good mood, kisses me on the cheek, and leaves. Now she’ll tell Papa, and I have no idea how he’ll react.
I turn off the light and fall onto my back, staring into the darkness. I glance toward the window; it would take me only two minutes to reach where he is. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. Matleon will do things I will enjoy, and I’ll end up spending the entire night there.
My phone pings with a message notification. I open it and see Matleon’s text: “Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“Are you thinking about coming here?”
“No,” I lie.
“Do you want me to come there?”
The idea is delicious. I type “Yes,” then erase it and write “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re supposed to stay at an arm’s distance from me.”
“I was going to do that. I just wanted to watch you sleep. What’s running through that pretty, naughty head of my Angel?”
I tug my upper lip between my teeth. What do I say now? He’s clearly teasing me. I read the text again, my eyes lingering on his declaration of ownership. My Angel.
“I don’t like people watching me sleep,” I try, shifting the subject using something from his message.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Oh, because your question has no answer. I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“Are you sure you weren’t thinking about my fingers or my tongue fucking your little pussy?”
My thighs twitch involuntarily, wetness pooling between them.
“Language, Matleon.”
“Answer, Angel.”
I chuckle. “No, I wasn’t thinking any such thing.”
“Such a pretty liar. You deserve at least ten spanks for how much you’ve lied in the past ten minutes.”
My eyes widen. The image of him spanking me the way I’ve read in books flashes in my mind—R-rated, obviously… it feels nice, but I don’t think I’d appreciate that much pain.
“Sorry, Mr. Matleon, but I’m not into this kink.”
“How would you know without trying?”
“I love my ass.”
“Me too.”
I press my phone down on the bed and fan my face with my hands. Even with the air conditioning running perfectly, my face is burning like I’m sitting in front of a fire pit.
I lift my phone again. “Good night.”
“Good night. See you tomorrow, Angel.”
???
Papa was less hostile toward Matleon today, and I’m very thankful for it. Marco is still hovering around us, only leaving us alone yesterday when we were in the treehouse.
Today, I decide not to work and instead spend my morning hours with Matleon. After breakfast, Mom and Dad leave us sitting alone in the living room, not completely alone, of course, because Marco’s presence is impossible to ignore.
“Hey, Matleon.”
“Hi, Angel.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “It wasn’t that kind of hey. I’m thinking about doing some target practice. Want to tag along, or do you have work?”
“Of course I’ll follow you like an obedient puppy.” He grins. “Gentleman obedient puppy.”
I laugh, rolling my head back against the couch. “Gentleman puppy.”
I stop when I hear a click. Matleon just snapped a photo of me while I was laughing like a woman whose parents never spent a penny on her etiquette lessons.
I shift closer to him. “Show me the image.”
He turns his phone toward me. My eyes widen in horror. This is bizarre. I unconsciously run my tongue over my teeth—do I really have such huge teeth? They look small in the mirror.
“Delete it,” I plead.
He shakes his head and puts his phone back in his trouser pocket. “No chance.”
I clasp my hands together. “Please, Matleon. This is the ugliest image I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“It’s not. And I’m not deleting it, even if you beg on your knees,” he smirks, leaning closer to whisper in my ear: “Naked.”
I pull away, glaring at him. He gets up. “Let’s do target practice.” He glances behind us. “Would you mind if I accidentally shoot someone?”
“Yes, very much. Marco is family.”
He raises a brow. I roll my eyes at his typical jealous, possessive expression. “He’s married, has three kids, and the fourth is on the way.”
He nods slowly with a hum.
I start walking. “Let me show you where our weapons are.”
I take him toward the staircase. Below it, racks line one side, while a wooden wall covers the other, hidden from view for anyone entering from the main door. I crouch down, slide the wood from the corner, and enter the code. The wall slides open, revealing the way to the basement.
We climb down the stairs and reach another door. I enter its code, and a strong iron door slides open. The entire basement is designed to withstand a massive bomb attack.
Matleon looks around. “This is a nice place.”
Weapons and protective gear of all kinds fill the space. The basement is four times the size of the house above.
I take my usual gun from the closet rack. Matleon picks up and drops several before finally choosing his gun.
“What was wrong with the others?” I ask.
“Not every gun is for everyone. They just didn’t feel right.”
I glance down at my gun. “Is this a pro-shooter thing? Because I just chose the first one when Papa asked me to pick.”
He takes my gun from my hand and places his in my palm. The weight feels off, unbalanced. I chuckle. “I get it,” I say, returning his gun to him.
He moves behind me and hugs me from behind. My chest tightens, my pulse jumps. “Let’s practice now,” he murmurs.
“Like this?” I manage to get the question out of my throat.
His one hand holds the gun against my waist, while the other slides down to my forearm, wrapping around my hand that’s gripping the gun.
“I’ll help you handle the recoil,” he mutters, pressing his cheek against mine.
“I can handle the recoil,” I breathe.
Then a knock at the door slices through the tension. Matleon moves back, his eyes dark. “I seriously want to kill him.”
I glare at him.
“Fine. I won’t. But can I call him a dick?”
“No,” I glare again.
Papa and I usually practice outside, so I lead Matleon to our outdoor shooting range. We stand side by side, aiming our guns at the same target stand.
“At the count of three, we’ll fire,” I say.
He nods.
“One. Two. Three.”
We fire. His bullet hits the bullseye, and mine lands in the X-ring.
“You’ve got very nice shooting skills, Angel,” he says proudly.
“What’s the use? I can only do fun practice. Killing is impossible for me.”
We shoot again. This time I hit the bullseye, though not as perfectly as Matleon. He laughs. “That’s excellent. I’m so proud of you.”
“It doesn’t happen every time,” I mutter and fire again, landing back in the X-ring. Matleon doesn’t take a shot this time. He’s watching me with that proud smile of his.
“You could be an excellent shooter if you practiced more,” he says, echoing what Papa always says.
“Nah. I don’t want to take Zo’s place,” I joke.
He laughs. I chuckle. Zo is at such an unattainable level that his very name turns into a joke automatically.
“How did he become such a shooter?” I ask Matleon, glancing toward my target. After I fire and hit very close to the bullseye, he says, “He had three things: a hunger to become strong, the brain of a genius, and our grandpa Stefan.”
“I’ve never seen his shots. I’ve only heard that he’s so good he’s never missed a single target in his life.”
Matleon nods, a proud smile on his face.
“There’s a godlike precision in his shots.
” He points his gun toward my forehead. “When we shoot pointing at someone’s forehead, it could hit…
” He presses the tip on multiple points of my head, “here, here, anywhere. But when he shoots…” He places the gun on the center of my head.
“…it always hits here, unless his aim is intentionally somewhere else. No matter the situation he’s in, he always zeroes his focus on his target while simultaneously knowing everything else happening around him. He is a genius.”
“I think you love him the most,” I tease.
He chuckles. “No, Angel. You know very well who I love the most.”
My heart skips a few beats.
“To keep things clear,” he leans closer, his voice low, “it’s you.”
I look away, muttering while holding back a smile, “You’ve become so cheesy.”
He laughs. “Why not, when my wife likes it.”
My smile slips, melting against his words.