Chapter 6 - Anya
He storms away in a rage, and I can’t move.
My back is pressed against the wall, and my lips are burning with the expectation of a kiss. The way his eyes flared with need, focused on my mouth, the way he leaned closer—I swear he was going to kiss me.
That can’t be, though.
He wasn’t going to kiss me. I was reading that wrong.
He was furious. He hates me. He said the nastiest things about me the other day. Obviously, he wasn’t going to kiss me.
But my entire body is on fire, as though someone stuck a match inside me and poured gasoline down my throat.
My heart is racing, and my skin is burning with desire for him.
A thousand images are racing through my memory.
How he used to dominate me in the most erotic ways.
How I would bend and arch and tease him.
How I would purposefully defy his requests, and then when I saw that smile on his face, the darkest smile that set my heart racing, I knew I had to run.
And every time I ran, screaming and laughing, he caught me.
He did the most beautiful things to my body.
No, stop this, it was only anger. He’s angry, and you’re angry, and you’re mixing up your feelings.
I push away from the wall, angry at myself that I’d somehow ended up thinking about these things. Angry at my body for being so turned on.
Angry that I would definitely have kissed him back.
Emmanuil hates me. It will do me no good to dwell on the past.
But he was about to kiss me. I felt his body stir. I felt the surge of desire pulsing between us.
No.
Absolutely not.
Frustrated and annoyed, I march up to my bedroom.
Maybe I’m a little tipsy from the cocktails this afternoon. I don’t feel tipsy, but that would explain my poor judgment in that moment.
I flop face-down onto my bed and grab the pillow, mashing it over my face as I scream into it. He had no right to talk to me like that. Just like he had no right to be so horribly nasty the other day.
I hate him for what he said about me. I hate the fact that he thinks so little of me. I hate him for how cruel he was to me with his biting words.
I hate him for making me think he was going to kiss me.
I’m so embarrassed.
***
Over the next few days, no matter how much I tell myself that I’d misread the moment between us, it’s all I can think about.
I’ve been obsessing over the idea of his lips on mine. I keep catching myself daydreaming; I imagine him pinning me against the wall, exactly as he had, but this time he kisses me. The kiss quickly gets carried away—
For fuck’s sake, Anya, please think about anything else but this.
I throw the magazine I was trying to read across my bedroom. It spins and flutters like a bird caught midair, fighting, then it falls in a jumbled mess on the floor against the wall. I stare at it for a moment, feeling like I’m the bird locked in a cage.
I’ve been hiding in here again, in this room, day after day.
Falling into the same trap. Why? Why am I being so obedient?
If he thinks I’m such a terrible person, then I already have nothing to lose by disobeying him or pissing him off.
He can’t think any less of me than what he’s already accused me of.
In fact, I should piss him off to prove to him that he doesn’t have power over me.
I already honored my side of the agreement.
I messaged my brother just after I arrived, the day after Emmanuil and I shook to seal our deal.
I told Kristopher that I was taking a vacation for a few weeks, not in San Diego.
He wasn’t pleased that I went alone, but he accepted it after I reassured him.
That bought us all some time. Time to figure out how to fix this mess. Time to keep my brother and my best friend safe.
I think that messaging my brother shows that I’m sticking to our deal, and that means that I don’t have to be a prisoner in here. There is no reason to lock me in the mansion.
And no one in San Diego knows Emmanuil married me, it was done in secret—so what danger is there, really? None.
That settles it, then.
I’m going shopping.
And despite Emmanuil lecturing the guards to no end, making them even more vigilant to ensure I don’t leave again, I happen to be very good at sneaking out.
I grew up with an overprotective brother. I had to learn, or I would have missed all those fun nights out with my friends.
And, of course, getting out was easy.
I caught a taxi around the corner, out of sight, and now I’m riding through the city towards the mall.
San Diego is a beautiful place. I can smell the salty ocean air as we drive along the coast. The ocean is bright blue, and the sky is toned to match it.
It’s all gorgeous. I could definitely live by the ocean. Phoenix has its own special vibe, but nothing can really compete with the ocean.
I stare out of the window, looking up at the towering palm trees patterned along the roadside.
Some of the buildings are covered in graffiti.
I love the colors and graphic shapes. I imagine it’ll be cleaned up by tomorrow, but graffiti is always something I’ve enjoyed seeing.
It’s secret art when it’s done well, not just slapped onto a wall in a messy scribble; I mean, the proper graffiti, the images carefully designed and thought out before the artist even gets to the streets.
“We’re here, miss,” the driver says, pulling over. “I hope you have a lovely afternoon.”
“Thank you.” I smile happily, sliding out of the seat.
Outside the car, the city noises are louder, the air is fresher, and my smile grows wider.
I walk into the mall with a spring in my step, happy to be out of my room and among people. I already feel energized.
For half an hour, I walk through the mall, stopping in at different stores, until I spot a dress that my heart somersaults for. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I can’t resist going inside and trying it on.
I select my size and carry it towards the very elegant dressing rooms in the back of the store. No one else is in here; it’s quiet as I step into one of the private booths and slip out of my clothes.
I pull the dress up over my hips and pull the straps over my arms, straightening them on my shoulders.
Every wall around me is mirrored, and I can see myself from every angle.
I love it. I can’t believe how incredible it looks on me. Sometimes you just find a dress that was made for you, and this one was made for me. I wonder if they have it in other colors. I might want to get a second one.
It’s short, fitting tightly over my body, crushed velvet with cut-out pieces over my ribs, and a low-cut neckline to show off my cleavage.
The back dips dangerously low, sitting just above the curve of my ass.
And it’s bright pink. A happy, cheeky, cheerful pink.
I push the cubicle door open to strut around a little in the larger dressing room area, looking at myself from a bit further away in the other mirrors.
Yes. I love it.
I need it in black as well.
I grin, running my hands over my body and spinning slowly in front of the mirror, but as I turn, my heart skips a beat and my breath catches.
A gasp slips from my mouth.
“Anya,” he growls, low and fierce.
“Are you kidding me?” I snap. “What are you doing here?” My heart is racing at the sight of him. I would hate for him to realize that I’m thrilled to see him here. I wanted this. I wanted to know if he’d come after me.
“I know I made myself clear when I told you not to leave the mansion. Are you hell-bent on disobeying me?” he snarls.
“If the rules are stupid, I won’t follow them,” I say, matter-of-fact, tilting my chin up in defiance and standing a little taller. Not that it makes any difference against his towering height.
He walks towards me, his strides fueled by anger, the look in his eyes plain as day.
He doesn’t stop when he’s right in front of me; he keeps walking, forcing me to step backwards, stumbling a little, and grabbing his arm to steady myself.
“Stop being such a bully,” I blurt out, shoving against his chest. He doesn’t budge.
“Why are you going out of your way to make my life harder?” he snaps at me.
“I’m not. I’m out shopping. I have every right to go out shopping.”
“We had an agreement, Anya,” he says, warningly.
“And? I haven’t broken the agreement. I’ve honored my side of it.” I shake my head, placing my hands on my hips and scrunching my nose as I glare at him.
His face turns stormy, his dark green eyes looking almost black.
“You can’t keep me locked inside the mansion, Emmanuil. I’m not a toy. I’m not a prisoner anymore. We are in agreement, and I’m upholding my end of the deal. So back off,” I say, heated and fierce.
His lips curl into a snarl as he lowers his chin, his eyes burning into me with such intensity that I have to look away for a second.
When I look back at him, his eyes roam down my body.
Over the dress.
I notice how he clenches his jaw, how the muscles ripple across his face, and how he flexes and un-flexes his hands as his eyes devour me.
He likes the dress, too.
A smirk of pure satisfaction sneaks onto my lips.
He might despise me as a person, but he can’t deny how damn fine this dress makes me look. I bite my lip to stop the giggle that threatens to escape.
“Where the hell are you even planning to wear this?” He gestures up and down over my body.
“To the bar. When I go for cocktails,” I shrug, casual and calm, my face void of expression as though it was a stupid question.
“Excuse me?” he blurts out. “You aren’t going to a bar dressed like that.”
“And who, exactly, is going to stop me?” I sass.
“We might be married on paper, but you’ve made it clear that you hate my guts, Emmanuil, and that this marriage is therefore fake.
I will go to a bar if that’s what I want to do.
And I will wear whatever the hell I damn well please. You don’t own me.”
The way his face changes makes me take a quick step back.
My ass bumps against the wall behind me, and I lean into it, away from him.
My heart is beating fast. For a moment, I can’t tell what he’s going to do, but he looks so angry I get the feeling he wants to rip this dress off my body and tear it to shreds.
I bite my lips, not hiding a giggle, but trying to hide my fear.
To cover my reaction, I roll my shoulders and huff loudly. “Now leave, so I can change back into my clothes,” I say, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my voice shakes.
“I won’t leave. You’ve already proven you can’t be trusted.”
“How did you even find me here?” I snap, heated.
“Darling, I can find you anywhere. Never underestimate me.”
My eyes flare wide when I realize. “You tracked my phone.”
He smirks, not answering.
An indignant snort of annoyance lets him know I disapprove before I march into the private cubicle and slam the door behind me.
It’s only a half-door. The bottom of the floor is open, and it comes just to the height of my head.
To my horror, Emmanuil leans against it, much taller than the door, easily able to see inside.
He isn’t looking at me, but one sideways glance of his eyes and he would see me, with the dress half pulled down over my hips and nothing else on.
I squeal in horror.
“Don’t you have any decency at all?”
“For those I trust, sure. But you’ll need to earn that back,” he says.
“I don’t have to earn anything from you,” I snap, turning my back to him as I wiggle the dress all the way off my body.
In the mirror, I see his eyes on me. It flares heated tension inside me.
I pretend not to notice, but I decide that if he insists on watching, I’ll make it more aggravating for him.
So I move more slowly.
I still remember all the things I used to do that would drive him crazy.
I arch my back as I step into my jeans, pulling them very slowly up over my ass. I rub my hands over my arms, then up behind my head, pretending to stretch. I let out a soft groan and tilt my head to the side, exposing my neck.
I hear a low growl.
“Hurry the fuck up, how long does it take to get dressed?”
My lips press together to hide my grin again. Good. Be annoyed. You deserve to be annoyed, because you’re annoying me.
With my T-shirt in my hands, I look into the mirror, directly at Emmanuil. He freezes, then hurriedly looks away.
“I’m waiting outside,” he huffs, his footsteps moving away from me.