His Wife: The Price of Redemption

Chapter Two

Naomi

"You look beautiful," Zav confirms with an approving nod as he enters our master bedroom, his jaw clenching and his sharp chin jutting up at me as his green eyes assess my appearance. His brown hair is gelled back, falling just above his shoulders. He is wearing a black suit with a black tie as if he's about to attend a funeral.

We aren't. It's an art gala, but considering the host is Zav's biggest enemy and boy, he has many, it's no surprise his attire is so dour. Besides, there's no costume more fitting than the Grim Reaper himself for this poisonous husband of mine.

His words aren't a compliment. They are permission.

The first dress, a more modest, slightly off-shouldered, white gown with lace sleeves, hadn't been up to his standards. It wasn't revealing enough, and like all other times I argue my perspective, Zav's vicious enthusiasm, as he likes to call it—or, in plain terms, beating me into submission—reminds me quickly how unwise it is to resist his demands.

My arm aches where, just moments ago, he had grabbed me with a death grip and shook the Hell out of me until I apologized for having a differing opinion about my attire.

Now that I'm dressed in a red, satin, low-cut dress with a prominent slit up the thigh, he considers me presentable.

I am nothing more than a prize. A beautiful peach with tan, sandy colored skin, pristine and mouthwatering on the surface, but bruised and beaten within my core. Most people don't spend enough time and don't dive deep enough to get to know me to realize just how damaged I truly am.

Nodding to appease him, I glance at my reflection once more in the body-length mirror hanging on the back door of our closet. My shaking hands were busy smoothing down my dress. My auburn locks are pulled up into a bun, with a few coils framing my diamond-shaped face. A generous coat of lip gloss compliments my lightly applied lip liner, giving my lips a fuller and moisturized appearance while obscuring the way I've chewed them to dried bits from stress.

Almond-shaped, chocolate-brown eyes stare back at me, having mastered impassiveness so as not to give Zav any more power over me.

"Are you coming, or are you going to stare at yourself all night," he hisses. A frustrated breath whistles past his lips as he peers at his watch, followed by a grumbled curse. "I want to arrive on time."

"Why are we going again when you cannot stand the man?" The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to swallow them. That earns me a squeeze on the hip with nails digging into my flesh, the thin dress a pathetic excuse for a barrier between us.

"O-Ow, I'm sorry."

"Don't ask stupid questions. Let's go." He releases my hip to grab my hand and lead me with him.

I don't think it's a stupid question to ask your husband why he is obsessed with a man who probably spends no time at all thinking of him. Zav is consumed by his jealousy of Tobias Siegel. Day and night, whatever way he can one-up the man is all Zav contemplates when he's not forcing himself between my legs to satisfy other more primal urges.

The thought makes my skin crawl, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Wait! I need heels!"

He stops near the three pairs I pulled out earlier to compare and kicks a silver pair at me. "Grab them and throw them on in the car. You shouldn't have been procrastinating."

He tosses my hand out of his, lips pulling into a mask of utter disgust. "God, Naomi, must I guide you continuously like a child?"

If you didn't need control all the time, you wouldn't have to.