When I wake up, it takes me a second to remember where I am. I sit up, glancing around the room. The other side of the bed is empty. There is no sign of my husband. It still feels a bit surreal that I have a husband. I mean, I never even had a boyfriend before.
That should probably piss me off, but I’m too smitten to care. I made a fool of myself last night and have a slight headache. It was totally worth it.
I wasn’t sure how my wedding night would go. Was last night the typical idea of a perfect wedding night? I’m guessing not. I mean, I still have my V-card. But this marriage is far from typical.
Warren gave me a taste of the kind of husband he will be. I gave him a taste too. I fall back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. I can’t believe I got naked and then complained he wasn’t going to see the shave job I’d given myself.
He went and got himself a front row seat to see it. Warren crashed the stage. I snort a laugh, sitting back up. I notice a glass of water and a couple of pills on the nightstand next to the bed.
I smile, remembering how after I passed out from the two orgasms he’d given me, I’d awoken to Warren washing my face off with a cloth. Then he had me drink water and take a couple of pills. I might have dozed off after crawling on top of him. That’s the last that I can recall. I don’t remember him complaining about it, but things got a bit hazy.
Snagging the pills off the table, I take them and gulp the water down before making my way to the bathroom.
“This place is massive,” I mutter to myself. You’d think we were in a condo, not just the corner of this giant house. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I know I need a shower. It is only when I am exiting the shower that I remember I do not have any clothing here.
I decide I’ll steal a shirt from Warren’s closet. It’s massive too. Bigger than my freaking bedroom. There is even a sitting area and some kind of dresser island in the center. It doesn’t go unnoticed that more than half of it is empty. All of his clothes and items are organized and put away in one corner. Is it always this way, or did he make room for me? If he did make room, how much clothing does the man think I own?
He hung it up. I walk over to the wedding dress that is now hanging in the closet. Warren had been worried about it last night. He noticed I put sneaky pockets into it. They weren’t visible unless you were looking for them or I had my hands in them.
My new husband is rather interesting with the details he does notice, but somehow other things fly right past him. I’m realizing the things that do kinda go over his head center around emotions and feelings. Just like now. I bet he has no clue it might be rude for me to wake up alone the night after our wedding, or maybe that’s secretly what I’m hoping. That Warren is inexperienced in the emotional department the same way I am in other things. Hopefully time will help.
Deciding on one of the button-up black shirts, I put it on. I need clean panties and my glasses. I fell asleep with my contacts in. I steal a pair of his socks too before leaving the bedroom. I’m not sure where the hell I’m going. I pass a line of boxes in the hallway. I nosily want to peek inside but control myself.
‘Mrs. Marino.’ One of Warren’s men gives me a nod as I pass.
‘Morning.’ I give him a smile. It’s going to take time getting used to being called Mrs. anything.
‘Mrs. Marino!’ Chef Marcello exclaims when I enter the kitchen. Everyone around here is going to make sure I get my new name drilled into my head, clearly. ‘I have some pastries set out and juice. Would you like me to make you breakfast?’ he offers.
‘Oh no. This is fine.’ I’m good with a Pop-Tart or bowl of cereal in the morning. I was actually going to shuffle through the kitchen and out the back patio door to my house. Wait, it’s not my house anymore.
‘We do have a variety of’—Marcello pauses as if in pain—’Pop-Tarts and sugar cereals if you prefer, but these are our homemade fresh Pop-Tarts.’ He pushes a plate toward me. ‘Notice how the whole thing is frosted evenly.’
‘They look wonderful.’ I pick one up and take a bite. A small moan leaves me when the cherry filling and smooth sugary icing hit my tongue. ‘You’ve ruined me for Pop-Tarts.’
‘Good.’ He gives a curt, satisfied nod. I don’t miss the small smirk either. I lean over the kitchen island to grab the juice.
“Tova!” I snap back at the sound of my name and see my husband standing in the kitchen entryway. He is accompanied by a man I have previously seen on the property. A lot of men come and go, but I’ve never had a conversation with any of them. I was told to ignore them. It felt rude, and more so now.
“You scared me.”
“Go,” he orders the man next to him, who disappears without a word. I notice that everyone scatters. The man can clear a room.
“Are you a grumpy morning person?”
“A word.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond to his request. He merely takes my hand, leading me out of the kitchen and toward the front of the house. His hold on my hand doesn’t release until I’m in his office with the door shut. “You are not allowed to leave our bedroom without clothes on.” I furrow my eyebrows, looking down at the clothes I’m wearing.
“I have clothes on.” I rolled up the sleeves of the shirt to my wrists, and the hem drops almost to my knees. Paired with the oversized socks, and all you can see is part of my legs. “It’s a dress.”
His only response is to lift the shirt. “Hey!” I squeak, pushing it back down.
“You have panties on.”
“Yeah.” He settles some. “I was going to go home and—”
“You are home.” I skip right over that. It’s a moot point.
“And get clean panties.”
“And a bra if you’re going to roam around.” I grab my boobs.
“Are they bad?” Now I’m self-conscious.
“Bad is far from what they are.”
“Oh.” I drop my hands.
“I had your things brought here and had them left outside our quarters so as not to disrupt you.”
“You packed up my stuff?”
“With the help of your mother.” Thank God.
‘Wait, as in you packed it or sent some of your men?’
‘Your mother and I.’ I want to cringe thinking about Warren shoving my childhood stuffed animals into boxes.
Every girl has period panties, right? I hope my mom handled that part. I suppose it doesn’t matter. He can’t break up with me, but he could get the ick. It’s still kind of sweet that he’d gone and packed it up himself. I’m sure he had his men bring the boxes.
We stand there in silence. I’m not really sure what to say. “You didn’t have a problem last night with me seeing you.” Warren steps closer, his hands going to the outside of my thighs, his fingers traveling up.
“Do we have to talk about that?” I can feel heat rushing to my face, and as his touch gets higher and higher, that heat is rushing to other places as well.
“We can talk about whatever you like.” He grips my ass, lifting me up. Warren walks over to his desk, sitting me down on it before dropping into his chair. “How are you feeling this morning?”
‘I had a slight headache, but it’s gone. Thanks for the pills and water.’
‘No need to thank me for taking care of you.’ Warren gently holds one of my ankles, his thumb softly stroking back and forth. ‘You showered.’
‘Yeah.’ I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face. The more it dries, the crazier my curls start to get. ‘I used some of your stuff.’
‘Use whatever you want.’
‘Are those my flowers?’ I point to a long, thin table behind him against the wall. He doesn’t look to where I motion to.
‘They are.’ I can’t help but smile.
‘I always kind of hoped you took some of them that I brought in and put in vases.’
‘I always bring them to my office.’ I love these little glimpses he’s allowing me of himself. I truly believe I may be the only one that he allows to see them.
“I really don’t know what to do with you, Warren.” I lean back, using my hands to support me.
“You can do anything you like.”
