Chapter 30
Dominic
I wake at the crack of dawn with a yawn. I’m an early riser, but even for me, five a.m. is extreme. But it’s not for my wife. She starts training at half past five every morning. And today, I’m joining her.
I used to work out in the mornings before she came, but for some reason, I’ve avoided being in the gym at the same time as her and have been going in the afternoons. But that’s ridiculous. I don’t want to avoid my wife anymore.
She turns off her watch alarm and hops out of bed. I do the same, but she isn’t expecting it and shrieks. She practically jumps out of her skin.
“Sorry, tiger. I didn’t realize you’re so skittish in the mornings.” The teasing tone in my voice has her relaxing. She’s a vision with her short hair all tousled and her cheeks flushed from sleep.
“What’re you doing up?” She squints her eyes at me as if I’m up to something nefarious.
Which I’m not. Well, not really. I am ambushing her workout, but that’s not necessarily nefarious.
After my accusatory outburst yesterday, I want to make it up to her.
I bought her the apology she wanted even though I knew it was a bullshit demand.
She didn’t think I could do it. But I can do anything.
I’m fucking Dominic Montclair. So, every surface of the room is covered in vases of roses, a diamond and ruby chocker sits on her nightstands, along with a handwritten apology.
Harold looked at me like I was crazy when I demanded he retrieve everything she demanded. I would’ve gone myself if it weren’t for meetings I had previously committed to. I picked out the thirty-grand necklace and even bought the matching earrings and bracelets for the next apology.
“Well?” She arches a brow at me expectantly.
I crack a smile at her cuteness. Even when she’s questioning me, she’s gorgeous. Her frosty eyes and white locks reflect the coldness inside me. She’s my perfect ice queen. But I know the heat I can invoke in her when I ignite her fury.
“I’m joining you for your workout,” I say in a calm tone. I turn to my closet, ready to get dressed.
“You weren’t invited,” she snaps at me, but I can see the glint in her eyes. She doesn’t fully mean it.
“I’m not waiting for an invite. It’s my gym,” I throw back at her.
“I’m not starting in the gym today. I’m going on a run. You can come if you can keep up.” Her tone tells me how much she doubts my endurance. There’s no doubt in my mind that I can keep up with her. She’s a woman, and I’m a man.
…
“How… much… longer?” I gasp out between pants.
I didn’t realize my wife is Wonder Woman. Or the Greek goddess, Artemis. Because only Amazonian or godly women could have this stamina. This endurance.
At one point, I distracted myself by fantasizing what that means for her in bed. I bet she could go forever with stamina like this. But fuck, I’m too exhausted to even think of that.
“Oh darling, we’re only halfway there. We’ve only run five point three miles.
” She doesn’t even sound winded. This warrior isn’t human.
I cannot comprehend how my wife, no matter how trained and in-shape she is, can be this athletic.
I know her long legs are helping her, but damn it, mine are longer!
“Perfect,” I wheeze out. I can’t tell if I’m being blinded by the sweat in my eyes or if I’m tearing up by this news.
We’re only halfway there.
Fuck.
This can’t be the same five miles I used to run. I’ve never run much more than this, but it was very doable back then.
It’s not just that we’ve run five miles. It’s the speed we’re going. I can barely keep up with this Amazonian. I think we’re running a sub-seven-minute mile pace. I feel pathetic that thirty-five minutes of running has me this nauseous. But I just can’t compete with her. It’s absolute torture.
And she knows it.
I see her grin when she thinks I’m not looking. When she sees my struggle. I hid it for a good twenty minutes, but now I can’t. I’ve lost this one. But it’s not my fault she’s insanely athletic.
“Unless you need us to cut it short?” I can hear the laughter in her voice. She’s making fun of me.
“No… I’m doing… great!” I gasp out. I can’t let her win.
“Then you won’t mind speeding up? I like a bit of a challenge.” I look at this creature, and she raises a challenging brow at me.
What the fuck do you mean this isn’t a challenge? Is she fucking insane? This is the hardest I’ve ever pushed my body. The most pain I’ve ever been in. And I’ve been stabbed and shot. By her! I’ve been stabbed by her, and yet, this is the most pain I’ve ever been in!
“Sure.” I brace myself for the worst. I remind myself that running is mental. It’s all about how you think. But fuck, I don’t think I can do this.
She speeds up, and I focus on picking up my legs and keeping one in front of the other.
I’m blinded by my own sweat dripping into my eyes. My nose leaks like a faucet. My mouth is drier than the Sahara. My chest holds the weight of the world on it. My legs have thousand-pound weights holding them down.
“One more mile,” an angelic voice says.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s my beautiful wife. I’m in such a daze of pain and suffering that I forgot the outside world. I forgot she’s the one causing my pain and suffering.
I look at her. Gaze upon my motivation to endure this suffering. My motivation to finish this. Not because she’s my muse, but because I need to finish strong. I have to show her I’m not pathetic. That I can hold my own against her.
She’s now coated in a sheen of sweat. And fuck her for looking that much sexier with it. Her cheeks are flushed, and it only adds to the vision. But her smile, that’s what carries me through the last mile. Her joy in this masochistic torment distracts me enough so that I can finish.
And when we do finish, she checks her watch and smiles widely.
“Ten miles! Sixty-five minutes thirty-two seconds!” She sounds ecstatic, but I can’t focus on anything.
My legs are jelly. I’m shaking all over. My stomach is twisted, and I’m nauseous. My heart is pounding from my head to my feet, and I feel lightheaded. I might pass out.
“My new PR!” She jumps into my arms, and I try to be strong for her, but I can’t. I only manage to hold her for a few seconds before I drop her. My stomach twists.
Oh fuck.
I push her back. I barely make out her cursing me out as I turn and puke in the bushes. As I empty my stomach, I lean on a tree for support. I’m so weak from the run that I’ll fall without it.
I feel her approaching, so I throw my hand out.
“Stay back,” I croak. I know there’s more about to come up, and I don’t want her in the splash zone. Actually, I don’t want her here at all. She shouldn’t be seeing her husband so weak. She needs to always think of me as strong and able to protect her. “Go… away.”
“Fuck off with that shit!” She swats my hand down and comes closer. She places a hand on my back and tentatively rubs it. “What kind of wife would I be if I ran you to the point of puking only to abandon you!”
Her referring to herself as my wife has my heart sputtering. But it’s not enough to make me feel better.
“I don’t want you to see me like this.” I spit after I say it, trying to rid my mouth of the taste.
“Nonsense. I’ve puked from running multiple times in these woods. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Next time we’ll just have to take it slower.” She winks at me as she says it.
Next time?
Next time!
I can’t tell if I’m appalled at the idea of ever having to do that again, or if I’m excited at the prospect of hanging out with my wife again.
“I think I’m done. Puking,” I tell her hoarsely. I start to straighten but wince at the pain in every cell of my body.
“Come on, lean into me.” Katerina hoists my arm over her shoulder. She takes on a majority of my weight as we walk towards the house. I can’t help but revel in her nearness.
My brother’s small wives would never be able to support them like mine can. Margot’s too short, and Cecilia’s too thin and weak. I grin cockily at how I lucked out. If we’re ever in battle, I’d thrive with my Amazonian wife by my side. I can’t say the same for them.
“Where do you want to go?” she asks lightly.
“Our bathroom.” I turn my head away from her as I say it, so she doesn’t get a whiff of vomit-breath.
“Sounds good.” She finally sounds strained, but it pisses me off that it’s because she’s supporting me. I’m being a terrible husband.
She brings me to our bathroom and dumps me on the tub.
“You can take it from here. I’m not washing you. If I didn’t see how horrible at running you are, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose to get naked in front of me again.” She winks as she says it teasingly, so I know she’s joking. I just roll my eyes at her.
As she turns to leave, I grab her wrist.
“Thank you. For taking care of me. I’m sorry I let it get to this point.” I stare into her blue orbs as I say it. I mean it with my full chest. I’m grateful to her.
“It’s nothing. We’ll just build you up to my runs.” She laughs awkwardly then skips out of the bathroom.
When I’m left on my own, I stare at my hands and contemplate my life.
I have a wife. She sasses me and rebels and pushes me to my breaking point. And I love it. My wife has me excited. I’m living again.
And all because of a peace treaty.
Who would’ve thought?