Page 42 of Souls and Sorrows
“Yes, well.” His eyes harden. “Doesn’t seem like that will be an issue any longer. I’m sure I can trust you to keep things interesting.”
My mind flickers to the capsules, and I stifle a grin.
Pressing my lips together, I mull over the mild freedoms he’s granting me. I still feel like a child that’s been grounded and sent to her room without dinner, but I suppose this is a better deal than I could have scrounged up myself.
Definitely better than the one Papà brokered with Vitus.
“Oh, and, Ariana?” Cash pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame with one arm.
My fingers twist in the lace of my dress, half-clinging to his words and half-wishing he’d leave already.
“Don’t go looking forbenefitselsewhere.”
12
For the firstseveral days as Mrs. Cash Primrose, I do what he tells me to because I’m nothing if not an obedient little housewife.
Starting with his bedroom—our bedroom, I guess—I strip the linens from his white four-poster bed, replacing them with red silk sheets and decorative pillows. If I’m expected to sleep there, I want it to feel as luxurious as it did at Nonna’s place.
And Ihavebeen sleeping there, careful not to wake Cash as I slip onto my side, and then he’s gone before the sun rises. The only reason I know he comes at all is because that spicy cologne of his clings to the mattress, surrounding me in warm notes of sandalwood and citrus.
He hasn’t even attempted to touch me in the days since our wedding, and hasn’t mentioned the attempt on his life either. I find it a bit alarming, but I’ve decided to be good and bide my time, sure that either Papà will contact me again and explain what the hell he was doing with that poison, or I’ll find another way out of this.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken matters into my own hands. I wouldn’t mind getting them a little bloody again, if it meant finally being free ofthis. Even if my new husband was the better option, I still wish I hadn’t had to choose at all.
I also make it my mission to explore every inch of the penthouse, and it’s pretty obvious which rooms Cash frequents, and which ones he has set up to give the illusion of occupation.
The kitchen and office seem obvious, although the food stocked in his fridge—lots of vegan products that my ancestors would have a coronary over and expensive champagnes—make me question if he does his own grocery shopping.
If so, I need to make a note for the buyer to purchase actual edible foods.
I throw a plush white rug in the living room downstairs, accenting the cream-and-gold antique furniture with a modern touch I don’t actually like, but that livens up the place anyway. A few glass ballerina figurines now sit on the black marble fireplace, and I’ve got several different paintings of pivotal figures like Mikhail Baryshnikov and Anna Pavlova hanging in the foyer and den, adding splashes of color and life where there previously were none.
His bedroom is the main source of existence in the entire place, clearly maintained by a very thorough housekeeper. His suits are all steamed and hung in the walk-in closet, while dozens of pairs of shoes and athletic-wear line the shelves. Different watches, glasses, and wallets adorn the white dresser across from the bed, one spot missing from each, as if waiting for whatever he took with him to return.
The en suite bathroom is next, and I spend a good, long while getting acquainted with the extra-wide shower, hyperaware of every bead of condensation that remains from his use earlier. My mind drifts while I rinse my hair, imagining what he looks like naked and wondering if he lets himself free in here.
I think about his cock, thick and long, even as he held it in his own palm, and the memory of him stroking himself in front of me—tome—has me bowing my head against the black tiles and coming so hard that I almost pass out.
Then, my mind tries to swallow me down into its pit of shame, so I climb out of the stall and find a black leotard and pair of leggings, making my way to the private elevator.
Pushing the down button, I wait a moment, frowning when nothing seems to happen. After a moment, my phone begins to vibrate, and I pull it out, Cash’s name showing up on the screen.
“When did you put your contact information in my phone?” I say in lieu of a greeting, immediately annoyed with how refreshing it feels to already be hearing from him.
We’ve only been apart for a few hours, and I don’t even fuckinglikehim.
Get your libido in check, Ariana. Jesus.
“When you were getting your hydrocortisone shot,” he replies. “Where are you going?”
I frown, glancing behind me. “Why are you assuming I’m going somewhere?”
“I can see you.”
My face contorts, and I look up, checking the vaulted ceiling for a camera. Sure enough, a little red light blinks back at me from above the elevator doors, and I roll my eyes at myself for being so stupid.
Of course he’s got cameras here. He might not be a part of the same world as me, but at their base, the differences really are imperceptible.
