The Billionaire's Wife (17 page)

Something must have shown on my
face, because she shook her head. "A mother knows. You ridiculous girl,
you can't just marry anyone willy nilly!"

What was she tallking about? I
glanced at Anton, but he was no help, and my father was staring at his hands
folded in front of him.

"What do you mean?" I
asked.

She shook a finger at me, just as
if she were a school marm and I were a disobedient student. "You didn't
even think, did you? Just decided to elope. That's no basis for marriage!"

My mouth dropped and I had to force
it closed. "Um," I said. I turned back to the cabinets and redoubled
my efforts to find the kettle. Relief flooded me as I opened a door and brushed
steel gleamed out at me. Grabbing it, I filled it at the sink and set it on the
range before cranking up the heat and heading to the pantry.

"Did you even think about your
family?" my mom was saying. "Even think that we might want to come to
your wedding?"

The pantry was spare, but luckily I
spotted a tin of Earl Grey hidden in a dark corner. "I don't know," I
said, grabbing it. "It was a spur of the moment thing."

"Of course it was," my
mom said. "And I haven't even met him. You didn't want to bring him home
to me?"

No, not really.
Because I
knew she would act this way.
Never marry rich,
she'd told me.
Marry a
good man, if you get married at all. Don't be like me. Money makes things
worse, not better.
Not that that had ever stopped her from spending all my
dad’s money...

"I'm sorry," I said.
"Mom, uh, meet Anton Waters. My husband."

"Oh!" She threw her hands
in the air, overcome with the drama of it all. "Oh, fine." She turned
to Anton and somehow managed to look down her nose at him from her position at
the kitchen table. It was impressive. "I am Felicia's mother, Selene Dare.
It's good to make your acquaintance." She shot another glare at me.
"And I'm sure Felicia thinks so, too."

"Mom!"

"What?" she said. "I
checked your blog. You didn't mention him anywhere in it, and when I talked to
Sadie she just hemmed and hawwed at me."

"You talked to Sadie?" I
said. "When?"

"On our way over," she
said. "From the airport."

In the past thirty minutes, then. I
was sure to have several frantic messages and at least five texts on my phone
from Sadie warning me about the coming storm. But stupid me, I was getting
ready to get fucked like a dog. I needed to get my priorities in order.

"Well," I said, "I'm
sorry I didn't tell you, but it really was a spur of the moment. We were going
to have a wedding and everything—" I glanced at Anton, but he was busy
trying to kill my mother with his mind. "—but we sort of... got swept up
in the moment."

My mother waved her hand. "I
don't want to hear it," she said. "You have to think about other people
once in a while, Felicia. You can't be so selfish!"

I almost lost it, then. Almost told
her that I'd married this guy for his money because she was sick and Dad was
broke, but at the last second I caught myself. She wanted to keep her illness a
secret, that was just fine with me. I'd do it for her. I'd save her life and
she wouldn't even know it. I'd be like one of those dumb girls in fairytales.

"I'm sorry," I said
again. "But it's done."

"It is not done," she
said. "You are going to have a wedding. A proper one, for all our friends
and family."

I blinked. "Um," I said.
"I guess. But... you know, you'd have to pay for it."

She waved her hand. "Of
course. I know we aren't as rich as your husband—" She spat the word like
it was poison. "—but I'm sure we'll do very well for ourselves."

I glanced at my father. His eyes
were on me, huge and pleading.

She didn't know.
She didn't know
he was broke.

Well. Didn't that just take the
cake? What kind of ridiculous drama was he trying to drag me into?

I narrowed my eyes at him,
promising him we'd Talk Later, then turned back to my mom. "All right,
we'll have a wedding. But did you have to show up unnanounced?"

She threw her hands in the air.
"Would you have answered your phone if you'd seen me calling?" she
asked.

She probably had a point.

"Well, Anton and I were going
to go out to dinner," I began.

"Oh? Good. We shall accompany
you."

Just invite yourself along, why
don't you?
I thought. But that was my mother. Always trying to compensate
for my father's inattention by drawing the attention of the world to herself.
She didn't let herself think she wouldn't be welcome at a dinner between a
recently married man and wife.

I opened my mouth to tell her we
were going to go on our own, thank you very much, but then she began to cough.

And didn't stop.

Dread curdled in my stomach. Had
she come all the way out here while undergoing treatment? She looked so thin.
Was she going to continue treatment here? Was she dying?

Was this the last time I was going
to see my mother?

I glanced at Anton, and though he
still had a murderous glare on his face, he wavered enough to meet my eyes.

I'm sorry
, I mouthed at him.

His lips tightened and he looked
away. I tried not to let it hurt me, but his rejection stung like a knife deep
in my belly. But I couldn't turn my back on my mother. She was the reason I had
done all of this.

Grabbing a glass, I filled it with
water and hurried over to her. "Okay, Mom," I said, pressing it into
her hand. "We'll go to dinner."

She sipped water and the coughing
fit passed. "Good," she said. "I'm hungry. Show your father a
spare room where we can put our bags.

I didn't even glance at Anton, just
nodded and hugged my mother. Thin bones poked through papery skin, and I closed
my eyes.

*

Dinner was an awkward affair, but
at least Anton didn't make any moves on me. Instead of being all over me, like
I'd feared, he was distant and cold, clearly unhappy with this turn of events.
I tried to laugh and look happy in case anyone was taking pictures of us, my
mother spent half the meal berating me and the other half planning the wedding,
and my father stared down at his steak and was uncharacteristically quiet.

When at last we returned to the
mansion, I realized I hadn't even tasted the food I'd eaten. I couldn't even
remember what I'd ordered. So much for living the high life.

To my everlasting dread, my mother
fell asleep in the car on the way home—another reminder of her illness. I
observed her in the light of the passing lampposts and bright marquees until we
reached the house. My father woke her gently and together they went up the
stairs to the third-floor bedroom. The bedroom I'd claimed as my own was on the
fourth floor, and of course Anton's bedroom was on the top. I told my parents
good night, and then followed Anton's silent back up the stairs to the fourth
floor. When we reached it, I wavered.

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. Tension
I didn't even know I was carrying curled into hard knots in my legs, and I
could barely keep myself standing as I lingered on the landing, full of
uncertainty. Should I go to my room? Did Anton even want to see me?

At the foot of the stairs, Anton
turned and regarded me.

"This was an unexpected night,"
he said. His voice was level and even, but I heard a tight note under it. He
was not happy. Not happy at all.

I licked my lips. "I'm
sorry," I said. "I couldn't kick my parents out. My mom..." I
trailed off. "She's sick. She's the reason I married you to help my
dad."

He quirked a brow.
"Sick?" he said.

"Cancer," I clarified.
"I can't believe she flew out here." I shook my head. "She's
really angry with me..."

He held up a hand. "Stop. I
don't care. I wanted a wife, not her family."

For such a rich, handsome, sexually
experienced douchebag, Anton really was kind of dumb when it came to
interpersonal relationships. "Well, I hate to tell you this, but that's
how it works. You marry a woman, her family comes along for the ride."

"Literally," he said
sourly.

I shrugged. "They'll be gone
after the wedding. Which, if mom has her way, is going to be in two
months." Jesus. That'd be the end of December. Who got married at the end
of December? People wanting a tax write-off, maybe.

"They aren't staying here for
two months," Anton said, his face hard. "They are allowed to stay
here tonight, and tomorrow they must leave."

I stared at him. "Christ,
Anton. My mom has cancer. You're going to kick her out?"

His mouth tightened. "I think
she might be more comfortable in a hotel. With an elevator and such. I will pay
for it, of course."

I rubbed a hand over my face.
"Wow."

"You do not have to like
it," he said. "You simply have to make it happen."

Right. Like I could make my mom do
anything. I'd never been good at getting my parents to listen to me. "I'll
try," I said.

He reached out and ran a finger
over my jaw. "You don't want to know what will happen if you do not."

Angrily, I pulled back.
A
threat?
"Excuse me, but just because I fuck you like I'm your slave
doesn't mean I
am
your slave." He didn't legally
buy
me,
after all.

He stilled. For the first time,
true fear went through me. I didn't know him at all. I didn't know what he was
capable of. I didn't want to know. He
did
scare me. He did make me
nervous.

And I couldn't do anything about
it. On the floor below, my mother lay, sick in bed, and I was here, bound to
this man, for good or for ill.

Slowly, Anton withdrew. "You
will join me tonight, Felicia," he said. "Come." And he started
back down the stairs.

On trembling legs, I followed him.
I had no idea what he had in store for me, and part of me hoped he was only
going to march to my parents room and demand they leave. But instead he kept
descending, until we were on the ground floor again. Silently, he turned to the
back of the house and strode smoothly to the back door where the house emptied
out into the garden. Opening it, he stood aside and waved me through.

Heart in my throat, I passed him
and walked out onto the patio. Cold autumn air hit me. I wore the little black
dress Sadie and I had picked out, and while it was ideal for a lovely evening
out on the town with my parents and new husband, it was not suited for the
chilly night.

Behind me, Anton stepped out onto
the terrace and closed the door behind him. It shut with a click that made my
legs tremble.

His feet scraped over the concrete
tiles, grinding the grit into the ground as he approached me from behind.

A hand landed on my shoulder and I
jumped about a foot in the air. Anton chuckled at my reaction, a deep, rumbling
sound that sent shivers over my skin. What new humiliation was he going to
serve up this time? And why did I find myself excited about it? I must be sick
in the head.

Slowly, lazily, the warmth of his
hand trailed over my bare back, to the zipper of my dress. For a moment I
thought he would undress me, expose me to the cold, but instead his fingertips
trailed over the fabric, down and down, until they met the swell of my ass.

Flattening his hand, Anton
squeezed, and I gasped at the sensation. Under my dress I wore no panties, as
he had commanded, and as my pussy lips parted with his fondling I suddenly
realized how exposed I was, even still clothed. My heart picked up the pace,
and in the light beaming down from the mansion windows the vapor of my breath
puffed and curled in the air like smoke, coming in short, sharp bursts.

"You are very defiant,
Felicia," Anton said behind me. "I cannot let that go
unpunished."

Punishment
. There it was
again. What did he have in store for me?

I found out soon enough.

His hand departed my ass and
traveled further down, down, to the hem of my skirt. A tug on the fabric, and
then he was lifting the skirt up, moving it over my chilled skin, until my bare
ass was exposed to him.

"Tell me, Felicia," he
said. "Have you ever had a spanking before?"

Oh god.
"No," I
said. "Except when I was a really little kid. But my nanny stopped
spanking me when I stopped responding to it."

"Oh?" he said. His
fingers drifted over the crack of my ass, skating against the sensitive skin
there, then going further down, until he was probing the hot delta at the apex
of my thighs. Blood rushed to follow his touch, and I swayed on my feet,
lightheaded. "I dare you to resist it now."

Dare? Dare was my last name, I was
fond of saying. But I didn't tell him that. I didn't want to bait him. I wanted
to fuck him. And if I had to go through a spanking to do it, well, that was
fine. I could pretend to enjoy it.

"Stay," he commanded, and
the warmth of his hand retreated, leaving me shivering in the cool air, my ass
exposed like a full moon to the night. Suddenly I had a nervous thought: anyone
could look out of the house, or any house on either side of us, and see me. The
garden wasn't exactly private. But then the sound of Anton dragging a heavy
metal chair over the concrete captured my attention, and I forgot my
compunctions.

I heard him shift, his clothes
moving against each other, and then I knew he was sitting down.

"Felicia," he said.
"Come lie across my lap and recieve your punishment."

I wanted to say no. I wanted to
turn around and go inside. But part of me also wanted to see what was going to
happen. Curiosity killed the cat? Curiosity would be the end of me.

I turned to see him sitting
languidly in an old, iron chair, sprawled out as though he were on a couch in a
warm room, one foot stuck out, one arm over the back. His thighs, straining
against the fine fabric of his trousers, looked full and inviting. I wanted to
squeeze them, to chew on them. I wanted to wrap my legs around them and ride
them to heaven. I hadn't straddled him yet, and I wanted to. What would his
hips feel like, pounding into me? What would it feel like to be impaled under
him, impaled on top of him?