Page 76 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)

His thick fingers scoop the tiny figurine from my hand, his gaze trained on my face.

An icy shiver rocks my spine.

“Caelian, is there something wrong?”

“You tell me. You wanted to decorate. That is what we’re doing. Is it not?”

“Yes,” I answer. “But—”

“But what, Nevaeh? Are you still not satisfied? Is it still not enough for you?”

I’m dumbfounded for a second. Bitterness poisons his husky, accented voice as he snarls at me and hangs the nutcracker without care.

All at once, it’s no longer a matter of detached coldness. His anger emerges like a monster rearing itself from underneath a child’s bed. I take a step back and attempt to sort out how to deal with him when he’s like this.

This is more than a simple bad mood.

“You’re upset with me,” I say slowly. “But I don’t understand why. All I wanted to do was decorate with you.”

“Don’t frame yourself as the victim, Nevaeh! You are no fucking victim!”

“I wasn’t trying to be! I was pointing out that I hoped we’d be able to get along—”

“That’s not possible,” he snarls. “I’ve tried with you. I’ve fucking given you everything you’ve wanted. Yet it’s still not enough for you. You’re still unhappy!”

My mouth drops open, thrown by the accusation. “Everything? You mean the basic decency to treat me as a human being versus some doll out of your dream?!”

“There you go again! Never satisfied!”

“You’ve barely even let me dance. You don’t let me outside unless it’s with you. I can’t even speak to my mother. I doubt you’d even let me visit—”

“You can forget about speaking to her again, let alone ever visiting her!” he roars over me. “You know what? You can even forget about that dance studio—it’s off limits! I’ve been too fucking nice to you. I see it now. That’s the problem. You’re spoiled! No more!”

I fall silent. I’m shaking inside and out. My hands tremble at my side and my heart booms in my chest.

Caelian ends his rant by crushing the nutcracker in his large fist. He turns to me and dumps the small, splintered fragments at my feet.

“That’s what I consider decorating,” he snarls in my face, storming past me. He makes it to the doorway before adding, “I expect you in my bed within the hour!”

I gnaw on my bottom lip to stifle the cry that begs for escape. Frustration bubbles up inside me, bound to force its way out anyway.

I’ve fooled myself thinking our marriage could ever work; we could ever learn to love, trust, and care for each other. How many times does he have to show me he’s a thoughtless, vicious brute before I believe him? Before I understand there’s no real civil union between us?

I’m trapped, like I’ve always been. Except so much worse when my husband’s the beast from every storybook…

TWENTY-FOUR

Caelian

“What is it now,C? What the hell’s the problem?” Ms. Poitier asks barging into my command center.

Several of my men glance around at each other. Her abrupt appearance throws them off. During our strategy talks, the room is usually off limits. Even for Ms. Poitier, the caretaker of the estate.

I heave a ragged breath out of my lungs and gesture to the men around the planning table. “Take five. Not a second more. Have your asses back here ready to continue.”

My crew files out of the door like obedient schoolboys dismissed by their teacher.

Ms. Poitier’s got her arms folded, her silver hair curled around her face in tight ringlets. She watches them go with an unapologetic bend to her mouth. The energy she exudes tells me she believes she’s about to issue another one of her infamous lectures.