Vengeful Desires

A callused finger ran down the exposed line of her spine. It was slow and deliberate. A heavy statement without words being said. Mirabelle Clem couldn’t stop the tremor that rocked her body. It was like having the finger of death trail down her spine. And it was just that, even though the finger belonged to her soon-to-be husband. It took everything in her not to take a step away and break the contact. She knew that wouldn’t go down so well with Dwayne. So instead, she plastered on her face a smile she hoped hid her discomfort. She had been doing it for some time now so it came easily. Mirabelle looked up in the floor-to-ceiling mirror she had been standing in front of for the last twenty minutes. Every strand of her hair was pinned in place. Her makeup, although minimal, was perfect. Still, she had to stifle the urge to check again before her eyes met her fiancé’s studying gaze. Against her will, her breath caught in her throat as she took in the man standing behind her. Damn, he was handsome; she mused silently. In a clean dark bespoke suit, Dwayne Fowler looked like a sexy god about to take over the world and for a moment she remembered why she had fallen for him so hard. Even standing in their walk-in closet, Dwayne looked like a man in charge. He was twelve years older than her at thirty-seven, but he could have easily passed for someone in his late twenties. He had a lean body and a flat abdomen. He didn’t have boyish looks. His face had too many hard angles for that and there was a meanness in his eyes that could never be mistaken for cute. Yet he was still mesmerizing even as he stood straight with one hand in the pocket of his pants while the other still made her skin tingle unpleasantly. His woodsy, pine cologne filled the air and replaced her delicate floral-scented perfume. On his face was an expression she had become all too familiar with over the course of their relationship. It was like staring at a stone statue with no emotion. But that hadn’t been the face he had shown her when they first met. If Mirabelle was being honest, it had come as a surprise when he started pursuing her just over a year ago while she was in the final year of her degree. Such a surprise she almost hadn’t given in. It wasn’t just the age gap that had given her pause. Dwayne was a wealthy CEO, and so different from Mirabelle. Even now, she observed some of those differences. At least, the physical ones. While her skin was a rich caramel tone as a result of her mixed-race heritage, Dwayne was fully Caucasian. He stood out next to her like cream in a latte with a dash of chocolate on top since he had two inches of dark hair he kept gelled to within an inch of its life. A tall, toned body added to his sexy appeal. At least, Mirabelle had thought so in the beginning. Before she found out, he was so fit with an air of danger around him, not because he loved his gym equipment. No. The man was a living, breathing danger she had sworn she would stay away from after the death of her father. She hadn’t kept that promise, and now she was marrying the man. Had it been fate? Maybe. The finger didn’t stop moving, drawing more shudders out of Mirabelle she could barely suppress. “Did I buy this dress?” Dwayne murmured. His English accent made the question sound sexy, but she knew it was anything but. Another shudder ran through Mirabelle’s body, but her smile didn’t falter. “No. I got it with Kara last week.” Something she was sure he already knew since he made it his business to know every move she made, and he definitely knew the clothes he bought her. His choices were always from top designer selections. Expensive and to his specific liking. Nothing as simple as the creamy white number she had on right now. But the instant she had seen it, Mirabelle had known that if she had to sit through another charity dinner because of Dwayne’s need to socialize with the rich and spoiled, then this was the dress she wanted to do it in. It made her feel less pretentious. “Hmm,” Dwayne hummed thoughtfully after a beat. He gave the dress one last look and then stepped away and stared at his own reflection. “Hurry up. You are not making me late.” For a second there, she thought she had been dismissed and relief had almost stroked her chest. But then Mirabelle felt a twinge of annoyance immediately creep up the back of her neck. He didn’t want to be late. When had she ever made him late? Not that she enjoyed these events. “I could just stay home,” she suggested and then promptly bit the inside of her cheek hard until she tasted her own blood. She didn’t dare meet his gaze again. Instead, Mirabelle ran her eyes over the reflection of all the expensive clothes and shoes she could see. s**t. That had been stupid. A few seconds of silence held the air before Dwayne responded. He moved back in closer and ran a finger up her back before he capped the back of her neck. It wasn’t a tight enough hold to bruise her skin, but it was firm enough to get her attention. “I thought I already made it clear. As my wife, you will be expected to stand by my side at these things. It’s good for the publicity. This is all practice.” “I know that,” Mirabelle whispered in what she hoped was her cooperative voice. She nodded as much as his hold allowed for good measure. “It would just be nicer to talk about something other than fashion at these things. I-” “Mirabelle,” Dwayne cut her off with a stern, low voice. His brows drew together, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “If you are trying to make sure we argue so you can stay home, forget about it. I don’t care what you want to talk about. This isn’t about you. Now. Get your purse and let’s go.” He released her like a hot rock and without a backward glance, walked out of the room. Words bubbled at the back of her throat and spilled to the tip of her tongue. But by some divine intervention, she held them back. It wouldn’t do her night any favors to voice more of her thoughts. She knew this. Mirabelle gave herself a mental slap and shook her head. She had a role to perform and Dwayne expected her to play it without a fuss. Still staring at her reflection, she blinked twice as though to reboot her brain and clear the thoughts. Then she gave her dress one last glance and straightened her back. It was one small victory. And it had to be enough to get her through the night. She could do this. If she was going to be Mrs. Fowler, she had to do this. A year ago, she’d believed she was the luckiest woman alive. Maybe she still was. She loved Dwayne. That was why she was still there, Mirabelle reminded herself. It wasn’t because of fear. It was love. She could do this.