Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
It’s not the vengeful document I’d imagined when I threw it in Francisco’s face. In fact, it’s generous to a fault. My family keeps everything. They keep his investment, his backing. They even keep the damn Michelin-starred chef from Bali. They won’t have reason to blame me for ending the marriage. And, in its last paragraph, it releases me entirely from any and all agreements that Francisco and I have entered into. Without consequence. There’s even a provision for support lasting a full year after the annulment is confirmed.
He cares for me.
Enough to put aside the things I said to him and have this delivered to me. This—a door back to my old life, if I want it, and offered without spite or malice. This portfolio is freedom, from our marriage and from him.
I don’t want it.
My heart beats fast and hard at the knowledge, pumping blood into my cheeks and making the tips of my fingertips tingle. I don’t want it. Because I care about Francisco, too. I’ve been so busy with my own confusion that I never bothered to learn about him. There’s a wild heart beneath all that control and dominance.
I want more of his dominance, too. I was a fool when I fought him in his office. He was willing to stand between me and my father’s exploitation. It was, like everything with Francisco, more complex than what I let myself see. He would have been the one to take the fall for my refusal, not me. He would have done that for me.
The portfolio snaps shut in my hands, and I’m headed for the door before I know where I’m going. Out. Out of my bedroom, out into the hall.
I find the butler on his way from one floor to another. He pauses when he sees me rushing for him, making frantic eye contact. “I need your help.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“My room.”
Anthony follows me silently back to the bedroom. My heart flutters up into my throat, but I close the door and face him with my chin up. “The bindings that my husband uses on me. Do you know where he keeps them?”
“I do.”
“Get them out, please.”
The butler leaves the room, and I try to calm my racing heart. Step one is to remove all my clothing. I fold my dress neatly and put it on one of the blue satin chairs, along with everything else I’m wearing. Then I take the papers out of the portfolio and take them to the fireplace.
It springs to life with the flick of a switch. I’m certain I’m not supposed to burn things in there, but it feels too right. The flames eat through the papers and curl them into ash. I’m watching them burn when the butler returns. His arms are full of leather bindings with hooks and clips meant to anchor them to the bed.
We exchange a look, and I’m almost swept away by a powerful sense of gratitude. Thank god I don’t have to explain to this man what I want. Saying the words, even after the time I’ve spent in this house, would be too much. I go to the bed and lie down, stretching my arms and legs wide, and he moves efficiently around the mattress.
When he’s finished, I’ve been thoroughly bound for my husband’s display. I test the bindings. They hold. The butler has done his job well. He looks down at me from the side of the bed, calm professionalism on his face. This is a man who has flogged me and fucked my mouth. It doesn’t affect his ability to do his job.
“Is there anything else you needed?”
Part of me wants to ask him to send Francisco to my room, but I don’t want that. I deserve to wait for him. Naked and exposed to anyone from the staff who chooses to walk in.
My face flushes to think about it. Yes. It’s exactly what I deserve. “I don’t need anything else.”
The butler leaves the door open several inches when he goes. His departure stirs the air in the room, moving it over my skin and my tight nipples and between my legs. It whispers there while I wait for my husband to find me.
CHAPTER 13
Francisco
An hour passes after I send up the annulment papers.
It’s as long as I can bear. My patience seems to have abandoned me. I’m no longer sure that I made the right choice in restraining myself. Perhaps I should have let her see what I felt. Perhaps I should let her see what I feel now. I won’t let her see everything. I won’t let her see the cold fear that she has already signed the papers and left my house forever.
If she’s going to do that, the least I can do is escort her to the door.