“Elna!” I jump in fright at the sound of the voice, eyes wide open and lips pulled into a frown as I turn around to face whoever thinks it fun to shout out my name on a warm, beautiful evening. “Get away from there.”

“Goddamit Brandon, lower your voice,” I scream back at him and push away from the railing. “You are screaming like a crazy banshee whose wife left him a day after their wedding and now his life is a mess.”

What am I even saying? I offer Brandon a sheepish smile, thankful to see that he finds my statement funny. “Sorry,” I murmur. This is what I become when my best friend is upset with me, a swearing mess.

“Why are you standing so close to the edge?” he asks as his feet carry him the rest of the distance between us. He stops in front of me, a short towel hanging from his neck. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

My lips press into a grim line and I roll my eyes, maybe bending over the railing of the hotel’s corridor isn’t such a good idea but I am only admiring the beautiful view outside. I want to take my mind off the fact that in my stupidity, I slipped up and told Clarissa about the marriage. I even had the guts to sound offended because she didn’t remember when the problem was from me.

I never told her, I had wanted to do it in person. Well, that’s the only option I have left since she has refused to talk to me.

“You are a terrible husband, Brandon,” I start to say, “probably the worst in the history of husbands but that’s not enough reason for me to want to kill myself.”

His limb making its way to his hair freezes mid-air, I take advantage of his shock to sashay past him and plop onto the couch in the balcony. My long legs stretch in front of me, I close my eyes and inhale the fresh air until I feel Brandon’s fingers on my feet for a short while before he takes my hand in his.

Pop sounds fill the air as he starts to crack my knuckles and my eyelids part open. He is crouched by the side of the couch with different emotions swimming in his eyes. His usual mask is missing, his face is the most expressive I have seen since we met and I play a mind game of trying to identify the emotions written all over his feature.

“Did you mean that?” he murmurs and my head falls to the side. His tone is like that of a young child seeking approval from his parents. “That I’m a terrible husband, the worst? Is that what you think of me, El?”

One of his arms comes around me, my fingers find their way into his hair, I pull it gently from the root. I wasn’t thinking when I said that, my mind was all over the place. The vulnerability in his eyes has me wanting to offer him comfort, to bare my soul to him. My heart clenches, he does so many things to me, makes me mad, riles me up but still finds a way to win my pity.

“No...” I murmur and squeeze my eyes shut. “I was upset.” His body goes rigid and I open my eyes to reassure him. “Not at you, at myself. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of the things I said.” I withdraw my hand from his hair to stare at my lap. “I don’t want you to go to hell either, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

Brandon takes his seat at the foot of the long couch and props my legs on his laps, he seems to have made a habit of doing that. I like it, more than I should, maybe because it’s a subconscious action on his part.

The concentration with which he does his volunteer foot massage is cute, I want to hold him, pinch his cheeks and kiss him. A sigh escapes me at that thought, I don’t know where our sex life stands anymore. But I don’t want to think about it now, this moment is too peaceful to be ruined by such memories.

“I am sure hell is the only place that will gladly accept me,” he murmurs as he begins to trail a line down my foot. His eyes flitter to mine, he smiles. “Why are you upset?”

It’s the sincerity in his voice that forces the next statement out of my mouth, “Don’t say that, Brand, of course, I’ll accept you, you are my husband.” The smile he offers me doesn’t reach his eyes but it doesn’t deter me, I intend to keep my vows. “I promise; I’ll always accept you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, El.”

His voice is laced with emotions I can’t decipher, like he knows something I don’t. But I don’t care, I have grown attached to him and I will stick with him to the end. Besides, what could he have done that isn’t forgivable. Hell is too extreme, even for his royal pompousness I call my husband.

“I always keep my promise, it’s me and you together, we can make this work,” I say. He squeezes my feet and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. I love his smile, it’s beautiful and he should wear it more often.

“Sometimes, I say things out of anger and I don’t mean them,” I murmur and smile bashfully without meeting his gaze, “but I’m working on that bad habit.” He chuckles and my heart skips a beat. “You are not a terrible husband or person, Brandon.”

There’s a long pause as we watch the skies grow darker with his fingers continuously running over my toes. It might not be much but I feel closer to him, I still have a lot to learn about him but I know now that words get to him, he also doesn’t like being hit. He’s sensitive. It warms my heart to see that my handsome, annoying husband also has a sensitive spot, which makes him more humane and a smile finds its way to my lips.

“Why were you upset?” Brandon suddenly asks and my head whips in his direction.

The emotions that had gone to rest wake at his words and I suck on my lip. He resumes his foot massage, I let out a deep breath and shrug, there’s no harm in telling him about it. Between curses, wild gesticulations and a lot of side stories, I manage to tell him all about Clarissa. Encouraged by his genuine look of interest, I do not stop talking until I have no more words left to vent and I sigh.

His laughter rings out when I’m done with my tale and my eyes close partially as I gaze at him with adoration. He notices this and smiles back at me. “You are as foul-mouthed as your father. No, no, you are worse.”

“I’m not,” I protest, “Pa is not foul-mouthed.” When Brandon arches his brow and crosses his arms, I pout and say, “Fine. But you must have done something, Pa is usually calm.”

Pa is calm to the point of annoyance so if he cursed at Brandon, he must have warranted it. He reserves his swear words for the worst case scenarios and Brandon isn’t the best person sometimes. So it makes sense.

“I did do something,” he mutters, “I spilt coffee all over the spot he just mopped.” Now, it’s my turn to fold my arms across my chest. “I was in a hurry, it wasn’t intentional, El, but he didn’t care, he didn’t want to hear me out. He told me to clean my mess up.”

“He’s old, Brandon. His back aches, he hated that job,” I say in Pa’s defence. “So yes, you have to clean it up.” A ghost of a smile dances across Brandon’s lips. “You didn’t do it?” He shakes his head. “What did you do?”

“I got him fired.”

My mouth drops open, I blink twice, he’s the reason Pa was fired? Pa was miserable for a short period until the marriage proposal came up and the culprit is right here wearing a proud smile. I jump from the couch to come and stand in front of him.

“You!”

“He told me to shove my apology far up my dirty, white ass because I refused to clean the coffee spill,” Brandon murmurs with his hands raised in surrender. “That’s racist.”

I huff and shake my head with a frown. “That’s not racist and your ass is dirty for making an old man clean up your mess. You dirty, white ass,” I say and we both chuckle.

“Come.” He taps his legs for me to sit and I do so. My legs come on either side of him and my hands automatically go around his neck. “Cheer up. We are good friends now.”

“I know that,” I reply in the same breathy tone he used. “Thank you for helping us.”

He replies me with a chaste kiss that leaves me aching for more. “Do you want me to call her? It also came as a surprise to you.” It takes me a few seconds to get what he’s saying and I shake my head. “Are you sure?”

My head bobs up and down of its accord, I can handle Clary myself. A phone call won’t appease her, that’s why I delayed telling her, I wanted to do it to her face, that way she can’t ignore me for long. I fucked up and I intend to make it up to her.

“I want you to meet her, please. Clarissa is my sister from another mother,” I say. His eyes zero in on my lips, I part them open, waiting for his to descend on them but that doesn’t happen. “Do you have any sisters? Your family was absent at our wedding, why?”

A cold look crosses his eyes. “No, no sisters.” My fingers weave through his hair and I tug. “I don’t like talking about my family but I have only one sibling, a guy, we don’t talk anymore.” Brandon shrugs. “He hates me.”

There is a shift in the atmosphere, a sadness that hangs in the air. I cup Brandon’s cheeks, desperate to take us back to happy times and he smiles. My heart skips a beat and I ask, “What’s your favourite colour?”

“I don’t have one, I believe all colours have a purpose,” he mutters and my heart nearly burst with joy. He gets it. All colours have a role to play. “But if I have to pick, I’ll go with coffee brown just because I like coffee.”

His answer elicits a chuckle from me, our foreheads press together and I stare into his eyes. The light in them has dimmed, I suspect it has something to do with his estranged brother but I don’t know how to approach the subject. I don’t even want to ask about it now for fear of ruining the mood. My eyes lower to his full pink lips, they are pinker than mine and appear to be coated in lipstick. But they are not, those are their natural colour and I want them on me.

I lick my lips and swallow; his eyes follow my movement. My breathing becomes shallow, our intimate position now more obvious with the lack of topic to discuss. His tiny nipples, fair skin, slightly wet hair, every part of him calls out to me. I want to grind my waist against his groin, okay, maybe that’s too much but I’ll settle for his kisses, a more intimate touch than straddling.

Brandon cups my buttocks and a soft sigh escapes me. I tilt my head back and his teeth graze my collarbone in a delectable manner that has heat pooling at my core.

“I like your hair, it’s pretty,” he whispers. My eyes come back to rest on his smiling face. “Will you show me how you made it?”

His request is odd, men’s compliment of my hair always stop at how nice, shiny and long it is. That’s all. But the twinkle in Brandon’s eyes makes me reach for one of the pig braids. He gazes with intense concentration, hanging on to every word I say as I remake the braid, never once interrupting me.

“Did you get it?” I ask him when I’m done.

He squints. “I think so; can I try?” My eyes narrow and my lips pull into a frown so severe that he quickly adds, “Forget I said anything, your hair is pretty.”

But I can’t. I find his actions cute, adorable and suspicious. What if he’s learning it to please his other woman? My heart can’t take that. I don’t want to be the one he uses to practise how to take care of some random women. I want to be the only woman in his life, the one he loves and comes home to.

“Why do you need to try?” I ask. When he turns his face away, my heart clenches. “Brandon, who are you learning it for?”

He answers without hesitation, “Brianna.”

My lips tremble, tears pool in the corner of my eyes, roll down my cheeks and I make to stand but he keeps me captive. I take another look at him, my shoulders involuntary shudder and the tears pour out. He is cheating on me and he is not ashamed to say it, what happened to his promise of faithfulness?

“El, I told you, I will never cheat on you, I promise,” he murmurs but I’m still unable to meet his gaze. “Bri is only eight, you have nothing to worry about from her.

With the pad of his thumb, he wipes away my tears and I sniff, I need to stop jumping into conclusions. “Stop crying, El. Please.”

“You should have started with her age,” I mutter while hitting his chest. He chuckles and grabs my wrists. “Can I meet her?”

A faraway look crosses his face, it makes me want to know more about this Bri of a girl, the lass who has the mighty Brandon eager to learn about pig braids. I run my fingertip across his lower lip and he bites it.

“Can I meet her?” I repeat; another one of my fingers join the one on his lips and he runs his tongue over them. “I want to see Bri.”

Brandon’s smile is sad. “Not yet.”

Without another word, I loosen the braid so he can redo it and the smile he rewards me shows how much the gesture means to him. Ignoring the odd angle of my neck, I wince when he jerks at a strand instead of finger combing through the mass of curls, biting my lip until he is done.

“It’s horrible,” he mutters with a twinkle in his eyes. My hand reaches up for the braid, it’s loose and rough, probably horrible like Brandon says but the smile he bestows on me makes everything worth it. “It’s awful.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you say it is.”

He offers me a panty-dropping smile and I squirm in his laps. My finger runs over the zip of my crop jacket and I pull it down to show the lace bra underneath. Brandon’s eyes darken with lust, I shrug the jacket off and splay my fingers on his chest, right above his heart which pounds furiously.

“I want to be your sub again,” I mutter in a voice below a whisper. He stays quiet, his arms circle my wrists and I shake my head to let them be. I want to touch him. “Brand, I want to be your sub again.”

His hand palms my breasts and I moan, letting my head fall back. “Will you swallow what I give you to swallow or throw up like you did the last time?”

My answer is delayed. “Must I?” I ask with a face slightly crunched at the memory of yesterday. “I don’t like the taste.” I pout.

“I like it when my sub swallows every last drop of my sperm,” he replies with his fingers circling my taut nipples and I moan when he pulls them. “It’s the best part for me.”

It’s the worst part for me. My mouth opens and closes, I nod my head. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Brandon squeezes my breasts with a care that wasn’t present earlier, a fondness I didn’t think possible with him. “Okay,” he starts with a smile that sends tingles all over my body, “for now, I need you to be just El, be my wife.”