I shake my head, brushing aside the thought. The last thing I needed was a spoiled, vain, brainless wife. I signal the bartender for another drink.
“Trying to blackout before the wedding night?” Arnold Macintosh, Connor Robinson’s nephew and sole inheritor, asks as he slides next to me.
“I don’t blame you, Brookes such an ugly, fat thing. Good luck getting that bitch pregnant.” He chuckles and I ignore him.
“Of course, you could always turn off all the lights if you were desperate. Which, if you ever wanted to unshackle yourself—” Arnold is cut off when I grab him by the throat.
“Do not speak ill of my bride, Arnold, or you will be sorry. And I can assure you I am more than capable of getting my wife with child. Although I am sure you would not want that. No, if I have a son, Connor Robinson’s fortune goes to him, doesn’t it?” I smirk as I shove him away, down another drink, and go to collect my bride.
CHAPTER 1
Eighteen Months Later
Brooke
The sight of my porcelain sink fills my vision as I pop in my contacts. Avoiding the mirror, I go through my morning routine. I dread going downstairs to breakfast. Every day for the last eighteen months is the same. Landon and I sit silently through a stilted breakfast before he leaves for work and not come back until I am fast asleep.
The smell of coffee fills my senses as I round the corner to the kitchen. Landon’s head is buried in a newspaper as he sips his coffee. Sitting across from him, I butter some toast and spread some raspberry jam across it. Sinking my teeth into the tart flavor I close my eyes and hold in a small moan. The past eighteen months have been like heaven. I have tried so many foods, but so far, nothing has been better than this raspberry jam Landon’s chef makes homemade.
After twenty minutes of silence, Landon folds up his newspaper. “I’m heading to Italy for some business tomorrow morning.”
I nod my head, even though inside my heart is racing. Landon’s business trips are a common occurrence. It also happens to be the only time he ever touches me. Usually late the night before he departs and always in the dark. I make a mental note to leave my contacts in. Blindness and hands are not a good combination for me. Without any more conversation, Landon leaves for work.
As much as I hate myself for it, a thrill rushes through me in anticipation of tonight. I know he does not love me or even find me attractive, but the thought of making love to him tonight sends tingles all the way to my toes. Cursing myself for doing it, I pick up my phone and schedule an appointment with my usual spa lady. That is another thing I have discovered since my marriage—pampering. I have never been able to go for a massage or have a mani-pedi before because ofconstant bruising and burns. Though my skin is still always tender and my arms still tend to be bruised, it is much easier to hide. The bruises are always a softer color, not as angry.