Page 23 of The Hitch
"Of course, sir," the giant man rumbles in a gravelly voice. Dante replaces him at my door and lays a firm hand on my arm.
"You're coming inside one way or another. I highly suggest you cooperate."
I yank my arm back and stand on my own volition, if a little wobbly. He leads me to the door—flanked by concrete gargoyles—and ushers me inside. A gasp unwillingly falls from my lips as I take in the luxury of his home.
Parquet flooring shines in the dim light from the Edison bulb sconces. Black wainscoting lines the walls, with a light grey damask pattern reaching to the ceiling. I can't tell if it's wallpaper—probably not, rich people don't use wallpaper, do they?—or hand-painted. Overstuffed velvet chairs and matchingsofas are artfully angled towards the fireplace, with an ornate crystal chandelier hanging in the very center of the room. It's like an interior design magazine came to life in the city, but with a gothic flair.
In my stunned silence, Dante clicks the door shut and locks it with a heavy clunk. The sound sets my nerves on fire, and I can't stop shaking. I didn't even know I was shivering until he gave me a pointed look.
"So dramatic. Sit with me, will you?" He gestures to the wine red velvet sofa.
I shake my head and inch backwards. He sighs.
"I have something to show you." He pulls out his phone and angles the screen towards me. There's a video of me, in this same god-awful dress, sitting at an unfamiliar table. He clicks play on the video and turns up the volume.
"My name is Melody Gutierrez, and I am of sound mind. I consent to marrying Dante Lyons. I consent to bearing him an heir. I agree to the terms laid out before me." It's me, it's my voice, but I don't remember it in the slightest.
"Can you please explain the terms as you understand them?" a voice from off-camera says, and I recognize it as the giant man he called Ro.
"I am consenting to marriage for a minimum of three years' time with Dante Lyons. If no child is produced in that time, the contract may be extended. Upon pregnancy resulting in live birth, I can relinquish the child to the… Go-ett-ick Consortium. I will be compensated with…" I watch myself take a shuddering breath. "…one hundred million US dollars."
"Perfect, thank yo—" The video ends, and Dante smiles at me.
"Welcome home, wife."
Dante
She stands silently, stricken by the video. All it took was a little medical intervention, and she agreed happily and willingly. The furious woman before me, though, is a vision of rage and terror. My cock stirs in my pants at the sight of her.
"That's not binding. That can't be binding. That's not even my real—" she stops herself.
"Not your real what? Not your real name? Oh, I know. Melody Autumn Crawford," I reply flippantly, enjoying the look of shockon her face. "Though that's not your real name anymore, either. Legally, you are Melody Isabella Lyons."
Her mouth flops open and shut like a fish. Tears well up in her eyes, and it sends a jolt of desire down my spine. I've always loved my women a little bit broken, and she truly takes the cake.
"But… how?" she whispers.
"Simple. I gave you an offer you couldn't refuse." I pocket my phone and extend a hand toward her. "You've had a long day, wife. Come to bed with me."
A switch flips in her head, and she takes off running in a flash. I bare my teeth in a wicked smile. I dolovethe chase. Kicking off my shoes, I follow her down the darkened hallway towards the kitchen. She falters as she reaches the door, unsure of where to go, but quickly hones her gaze in on the knife block. Faster than a blink, she's grabbed the biggest one of the bunch and whirled around to face me, holding the knife out threateningly.
It's adorable.
"Stay the fuck back, you hear me?" Melody pants with a flush to her cheeks.
I take another step toward her. "Loud and clear, dearest. Here's the thing, though." I take another step, and she shuffles backwards. "You don't know this house like I do."
"I know enough about the business end of a knife, prick." She holds up the chef's knife, waggling it at me. I smirk and take another step closer, but she bolts. Again.
She feints to the left but passes me on the right as I lunge for her—not fast enough, it seems, because she scurries back to the living room. I hear her pounding footsteps stumble as she bounds up the stairs.
"You're in trouble, Melody!" I sing out with a smile as I turn to follow her. A muffledfuck yousounds from the second floor, and a door slams shut. I casually walk up the stairs, whistling tomyself. There aren't that many rooms on the second floor, just some spare bedrooms and storage closets.
However, all the doors but one are open. I grin and head towards the suspiciously shut closet, walking as lightly on my feet as possible. With a flourish, I yank open the door and find—nothing. Cleaning supplies and a stack of fresh linens sit arranged neatly on the shelves. There's not enough space for a person to hide without mussing the orderly contents.
"Where are you, wife?" I whisper into the empty hall, listening for her frantic breathing. Silence greets me, broken only by my own exhalations and the faint ticking of my grandfather clock. She's good.
The faintestthumpon the third floor above alerts me to her presence. Oh, she'sverygood. I kick off my shoes and tiptoe to the stairs, taking them two at a time, silently creeping closer and closer to my bride.
