I nod and focus on breathing slowly. It helps with both nausea and anger. Sometimes I forget the facts and start thinking that we have a normal marriage, a partnership of equals, instead of . . . well, whatever it is we have. On paper, I might be Julian’s wife, but in reality, I’m far closer to his sex slave.
A sex slave who’s desperately in love with her owner.
Closing my eyes, I find a comfortable position in the middle of the spacious leather seat and try to relax.
It’s going to be a long flight.
* * *
“Wake up, baby.” Warm lips brush against my forehead as my seatbelt is unbuckled. “We’re here.”
I open my eyes, blinking slowly. “What?”
Julian smiles at me, his blue gaze filled with amusement as he stands in front of me. “You slept the entire way. You must’ve been exhausted.”
I had been a bit tired—the aftermath of all the studying and packing—but an eight-hour nap is a new record for me. Must be those pregnancy hormones again.
Covering a yawn with my hand, I get up and see Rosa already standing by the exit, holding her backpack. “We landed,” she says brightly. “I barely felt the plane touch down. Lucas must be an amazing pilot.”
“He is good,” Julian agrees, wrapping a cashmere shawl around my shoulders. When I give him a questioning look, he explains, “It’s only sixty-eight degrees outside. I don’t want you to get cold.”
I suppress the urge to snicker. Only someone from the tropics would consider sixty-eight degrees “cold”—though, to be fair, it probably is a bit chilly for the short-sleeved dress I’m wearing. Chicago weather in late May is unpredictable, with cool spring days interspersed with summer-like heat. Julian himself is dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, button-up shirt.
“Thank you,” I say, looking at him. On some level, I do find his concern touching, even if he takes it too far these days. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the feel of his large hands on my shoulders makes me want to melt against him, even with Rosa standing only a few feet away.
“You’re welcome, baby,” he says huskily, holding my gaze, and I know he feels it too—this deep, inexplicable pull we have toward one another. I don’t know if it’s chemistry or something else, but it ties us together more securely than any rope.
The clanging of the plane door opening snaps me out of whatever spell I was under. Startled, I step back, grabbing the shawl so it doesn’t fall. Julian gives me a look that promises a continuation of what we started, and a shiver of anticipation runs through me.
“Is it okay for me to go down?” Rosa asks, and I turn to see her waiting impatiently by the open door.
“Sure,” Julian says. “Go ahead, Rosa. We’ll be right there.”
She disappears through the exit, and Julian steps closer to me, making my breath catch in my throat. “Are you ready?” he asks softly, and I nod, mesmerized by the warm look in his eyes.
“In that case, let’s go,” he murmurs, taking my hand. His big, masculine palm engulfs my fingers completely. “Your parents await.”
* * *
The car that takes us from the airport to my parents’ house is a long, modern-looking limo with unusually thick glass.
“Bulletproof?” I ask when we get in, and Julian nods, confirming my guess. He’s sitting in the back with me and Rosa, while Lucas is driving, as usual.
I wonder if the blond man resents this trip for taking him away from his Russian toy. The last I heard, the interpreter was still alive—and still held prisoner in Lucas’s quarters. Julian told me that Lucas assigned two guards to watch over her in his absence and make sure she’s all right. Apparently, he doesn’t want anyone else to have the privilege of torturing the girl.
That whole situation makes me sick, so I try not to think about it. The only reason I even know as much as I know is because Rosa refuses to leave it alone, constantly begging me to ask Julian for updates. Her strange obsession with Julian’s right-hand man worries me, even though I’m coming to the conclusion that Rosa was right about Lucas having zero interest in her. Still, as much as I don’t want her to get involved with him, I also don’t want her to be heartbroken—and I’m afraid things are trending in that direction.
“Are you sure your parents don’t mind us coming so late?” Rosa asks, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s almost nine in the evening.”
“No, they’re really anxious to see me.” I glance down at my phone, which pings with yet another text from Mom. Picking it up, I skim the message and tell Rosa, “My mom already has the table set.”
“And they don’t mind me tagging along?” She chews on her lower lip. “I mean, you’re their daughter, so of course they want to see you, but I’m just the maid—”
“You’re my friend.” Impulsively, I reach across the limo aisle and squeeze Rosa’s hand. “Please stop worrying about it. You’re not imposing.”
Rosa smiles, looking relieved, and I glance at Julian to see his reaction. His face is impassive, but I catch a glimmer of amusement in his gaze. My husband is clearly not worried about imposing on my parents so late in the evening. And that makes perfect sense. Why would something like that faze him when he unapologetically abducted their daughter?
This should be an interesting dinner indeed.
* * *
“Nora, honey!” As soon as my parents’ door swings open, I’m enveloped in a soft, perfumed embrace. Laughing, I hug my mom and then my dad, who’s standing right behind her. He holds me tightly for a few moments, and I feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest.