Page 27 of Storm

Jumping up, I perch on the available desk space next to him.

A calloused palm slides up my leg, taking my thigh and squeezing under my white midi dress. “We need to talk about what the doctor said.”

Choking, the air in the room suddenly disappears.

How can this man alter my subconscious with one touch?

While Sunny was being distracted by Mary, the doctor was given a brief opportunity to examine me. He would not tell me what he thought. Standard procedure. All information would be passed on to my husband. That’s how being the wife of a hollow goes. You’re another commodity.

I settle back further on his desk, my legs swinging. “Okay. I’m all ears.”

He pushes back his chair slightly, his thumb making a drugging circle on my skin, the material of my dress clearly showing the indent of where his large hand takes over my leg. “There’s going to be some risks with this pregnancy.”

I wave my hand in the air. “Yes, and…” He’s stating the obvious from what the doctor told us every other time I fell pregnant after Sunny.

Didn’t stop Melek from putting babies in me, I might add, or me begging for it.

So, he goes on with the facts, sizing me up. “You’re about six weeks. Haemorrhaging is a possibility at any stage, or going into early labour, as you experienced both in your last pregnancy.”

My stare almost glazes over. Grief hits differently these days. It’s such a constant that I barely notice the damage it causes. I’m tempted to say, “If this even lasts.” But once again, I hold my tongue.

Finding a leaf stuck to my dress, Melek pauses before placing it in the bin, then he brings his chair closer to me. “Are you listening to what I’m saying?” my husband asks as he grabs my hand and places it firmly in his own. A creak comes from his chair, and his form is towering over me. “Look at me, wife.”

I release the pent-up petulance before I angle my chin slightly, expecting him to do the rest. I’m not disappointed. He uses his free hand to push my chin up to face him. “You will listen.”

“Yes. Sir.” I punch out each word individually.

His lips twitch. My core grips down on nothing.

“Good. The doctor has recommended rest as a preventative measure for any future mishaps.” I grimace at his choice of words. He continues, “I have to agree, as it seems what we are doing isn’t working.”

No way. Is he taking angry hate fucking off the table? My ears perk up, and my heart deflates.

“You will be on a strict diet. Mary will prepare new medicines you’ll need to take daily.” I nod. Fat luck if he thinks I’m taking those horrible pills again. They only ever made me puke with Sunny. “You will only be allowed to do light duties in the garden, and you cannot pick up Eli.”

My forehead scrunches. I couldn’t care less about my food consumption. I eat to survive. That’s what living my formative years as a factory worker taught me. Eating for pleasure has not come naturally to me. His other demands will be silently thrown out the fucking window.

Bless his cloying little cotton socks. He’s forgotten the knifing incident. Or he’s keen for a repeat performance. He is a masochist, after all.

A thumb goes to smooth a straight line along my forehead. I crease my lines harder. “Gods, woman, he’s too old for you to be giving piggyback rides and baby cuddles.”

“I…” Melek’s hand goes to my mouth to stop me, anticipating what I’m going to say.

“If Eli wants a piggyback ride or to play whatever other nonsense you two get up to that involves him flying in the air, remind him he has to play those games with me. I’ll tell him tomorrow morning.”

I try to speak again, but his hand is still firmly covering my mouth. My lips meet a warm, tough-skinned palm. “Hmmm, this is a good look on you, wife. Should’ve gotten you a muzzle years ago.” Over my dead body, my fury fires back.

Yanking my face back, his hand falls from my lips. “What about your nightly torture sessions?”

Melek falls back in his chair, kicking his boots up on the opposite side of the desk, rubbing his chin, gazing at me thoughtfully. “The good doctor told me sex is a healthy part of pregnancy.”

My eyes do somersaults into the back of my skull. “He obviously hasn’t heard of your type of sex. The kind where you fuck the woman senseless and she wakes up sore all over the next day.”

“Did you just roll your eyes, wife?” Of course it is the eye roll that sends him over the edge. His boots thud back onto the floor. “On my lap.” It’s a harsh demand. One that has me eagerly complying.

Did I say Melek is the masochist? Maybe it’s me. Damn it.

Sliding off the desk, I appraise him in the chair, devastating in his stature. If it weren’t me who was here, who would it be? I find the deepest scar on my palm and skirt its edges.