Arranged(6)

“Okay . . . You can go,” I told her blandly. “I don’t need you anymore.”

She gave me quite the look for that bit of impertinence. “You think those vows changed anything? You think when he fucks you that you’ll have more power? You don’t know him at all. He’ll get bored with you in one night. You’re a pretty bauble that he’ll forget about the moment you’re out of his sight. You’re a possession to him. You’ll always be just as much of an employee to this family as I am. In fact, you’re more expendable. I outrank you. Never forget it.”

I knew she wasn’t wrong. I knew it. That didn’t mean I didn’t hate it. I vowed, not for the first time, to gain at least enough favor with my husband to get her fired. “Do you want to lecture me, or do you want me to get ready for my husband? I’m not changing until you leave.” It had been a long day and I was not in the mood for her shit.

She gave me one last murderous look and left.

I knew I’d be paying for that bit of sass later. Asha always gave as good as she got with interest.

It was worth it.





CHAPTER





THREE





I’d been told repeatedly that my new husband was good in bed. During my training, it had been repeated so often and with such unquestioning authority that I’d come to resent the knowledge, but by no means did I doubt it.

Even amidst all of that certainty, though, I was too nervous to be optimistic enough to think that would mean that my wedding night could be good for me.

It wasn’t good. Not even a little bit.

He came into the dark room and started undressing without a word. He was holding a drink, the dark liquid sloshed out of it as he set the tumbler less than gently onto the nightstand.

I’d put on the beautiful lingerie that’d been lain out for me and gotten into bed, beneath the covers, hoping he wouldn’t turn on any lights. More to hide my vulnerable expression even than my body.

I got half my wish. He turned on the light in the attached bathroom, but not in the room. It was still too much. I could make out his face in the dim light, so that meant he could see mine.

One mercy, though. He barely spared a glance at my face.

He undressed with swift, angry movements. I fixed my eyes on the canopy above the bed.

He pulled back the covers and paused for a long time, never saying a word. I could feel his eyes on my body.

I was trembling, and I knew that he had to see it. My fingers and lips always trembled the most. I bit my lips and clenched my fists.

“So I suppose we’re doing this,” he said coldly.

“I suppose so,” I replied, infusing all the calm I could shove into the words. “They would probably know if we didn’t.”

I stole a glance at his face. His heavily lashed, stormy eyes flashed at me with all kinds of hostility. “Of course they will,” he drawled. “Didn’t they tell you? They’re planning to check the sheets in the morning, and if that weren’t enough, they’re sending a doctor to examine you, to make sure I’ve properly fucked you.”

I hadn’t known that. They’d examined me beforehand—you didn’t pay millions for something like that on word alone—but I hadn’t known about the checkup after.

“I’ve never had to fuck on command before,” he added bitterly.

“Me neither,” I replied.

“I would hope not. I hear my father paid a small fortune for a virgin bride.”

I swallowed hard, my face turning red. This was even more humiliating than I’d envisioned. His antipathy, or at least this level of it, was unexpected. My voice was measured and composed as I replied, “He did.”

“Well, let’s see if you’re worth it,” he said, something ugly growing in his voice.

I tried to keep my breaths even and measured, but a few ragged puffs escaped in spite of me.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered gruffly.

Awkwardly, I did it. He cursed. My lips trembled. I dug my nails into my palms harder. The lingerie that had been laid out was an intricate white lace teddy that just happened to be missing a crotch. He wouldn’t even have to undress me to consummate our union. How terribly convenient was that?

“My God, they didn’t miss a trick, did they?” His question was incredulous and rhetorical, and there was an unmistakable bite to it.

They were the team that had transformed me into the perfect fake wife, and no, they hadn’t missed a trick.

“They did not,” I agreed.

Without another word he climbed on top of me, his elbows braced on either side of me, his hips slipping between my thighs.

My eyes fixed on his throat as he lined his hardness up against my softness.

“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice harsh. “It’s not too late to back out. You can still walk away without a scratch.”

I nodded.

It wasn’t enough.

“I want to hear you say it,” he gritted out, his breath hot on my face. “Tell me that you are absolutely sure that this is what you want.”

“I’m absolutely sure that this is what I want,” I replied, enunciating every syllable clearly. I was proud that my voice held barely a quiver.

I was so dry and tense, he had to spit on his hand and rub it on himself to ease inside. He looked so angry and put upon while he did this that I shut my eyes and kept them that way. I bit my lip until it bled as he made his way in. It hurt much more than I’d imagined, a sort of pointed, raw pain that just felt wrong.