Chapter 9 #3
“I told you before he was born. I wanted to talk about baby names with you, but you said you already had a name picked out, and it was your right to make all the choices. Your name was final.” My glare is just as ferocious.
“So, I chose a nickname. He’s my sunshine.
” Maybe I shouldn’t be sharing so much, but with the noises I’m hearing coming up the stairs from guests arriving, I know he’d never lose it now.
No angry hate sex with esteemed council members in the house who might hear me scream. Though they’d probably enjoy my screams. Gross.
“As for being nice, I’ve always provided for you.
You and Sunny”—he makes a point to say my name for our son—“both want for nothing in this house. However, your doctor told me if you aren’t happy here, it could be affecting the viability of the pregnancy, and if I have to watch you lose another baby, I’ll throw myself on the creatures beyond the trees myself as a fucking failure of a husband. ”
Heart ricocheting, breathing erratic, my vision blurs at the edges. “I…” The breath wheezes past my lips. “cannot… breathe.” I barely get the last words out. Melek is guiding me into the bedroom to sit on the mattress, urging me to put my head between my knees.
The locket is long forgotten, a treasure I’ll need to secure later.
“I need you to inhale for me, wife.” At least he is still calling me wife and not Storm. I can’t take any more surprises tonight.
His declaration is more than I can bear.
He always seemed so indifferent—until the point we had Sunny, and I nearly bled to death.
Slowly, the cracks began to yawn open in him and me.
We started treating our relationship as less of an internal war of Halo against seronds, and instead, we came to some truce over our mutual heart-mending love for our child.
Sometimes, I stare at Sunny and wonder how Melek and I made that.
How did the tough, rough-as-nails commander of the Halo Army and the serond farmer with nothing but rage in her heart end up with a literal angel?
I love that kid so much, and I know Melek does too.
It wasn’t just me spending hours over his cot each night as our baby slept, especially in the early days.
Melek would get up throughout the night to bring Sunny to me to feed.
He could’ve hired a night nurse to help.
That’s what everyone else suggested he do.
I heard the hushed whispers from downstairs when I’d been put on strict bed rest. Noise travels in this absurdly extravagant house.
Even the doctors suggested it at each appointment.
When the doctor considered me well, I left the house a few times in the early days, attending my first self-inflicted mums group in Halo.
They were all surprised to hear Melek was even holding his own baby for more than a cursory minute, imparting that information on me with ridicule, like I was doing something wrong.
Fatherly duties quotas need to be met. Going above and beyond was seen as my being a negligent mother.
Another problem to add to the long list of things wrong with me.
Child rearing. Child holding. Child feeding. Child anything is a wife’s job—no, her duty. Halo husbands work to keep Halo safe and to conquer. The wives create healthy offspring to plunder.
Steady, sure hands rub my back, and my breathing gradually comes back to normal as woodsy spice engulfs me. Without warning, his hand moves away, the bed springs up, and his absence is an immediate zap to my already overwhelmed system.
Just as soon as he is gone, heated palms skim under my heel, lifting it.
Raising my head, I find the lord commander of Halo on one knee before me, a high-heeled shoe in his hand.
The sight would be laughable if he didn’t carry an air of devastation about him.
Those shoes were a horrible contraption I’d only discovered once entering Halo society.
He doesn’t require permission. I gave that to him eleven years ago when he took my virginity.
The shoe fits perfectly. Hands the size of my foot skim around my sole, leaving sparks in their wake.
Steely eyes never leave the job at hand, and a section of wavy brunette hair falls from its flawlessly styled lick.
My fingers buzz to push it back. I dig them further into the comforter, gritting my teeth.
A wayward thumb skims my calves, which is wholly distracting.
Breathlessly, I mutter, “I need you to act a little meaner to me tonight. All the hugging and un-mean words are jumbling my brain.” I’m unforgiving in my glare, silently daring him to move his hands further up my dress—just a touch higher, to feel the rushing tingle climb.
Doing up the second strap on my shoe, he stands as if nothing is amiss, and my underwear isn’t completely ruined from seeing him on the floor before me. Bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Leaning down, he brushes my hair off my shoulder, grazing my ear as if letting me in on a secret. “I’ll do what I want. I’m your commander, remember.” And with those final words, he walks away, and I put my head between my knees for another five minutes. I. Hate. Him.