by Sienna Blake
I turned back to him, pouting at me like a sullen child in his armchair. “Why did you do that?”
“Pull yourself together, old man.” For once be the father you should have been.
I began to walk out again. I knew it wouldn’t fucking help, taking away that bottle. He would just pull out another one from his myriad of stashes around the mansion. Why did I even try?
“Please, don’t leave me like this,” he begged. “Take this. End my suffering.”
At that, I spun.
He had a gun, a fucking gun in his hands, holding it towards me like an offering. “Let me be with her in Heaven.” He fell towards me, his knees hitting the floor before he crawled towards me, the gun handle out.
Dear God. Kill my father. How could he beg me, his only son, to do such a thing? Did he think I could actually do it? Did he think I actually would? As payback for all those years of tears and bruises? How I hated him, but I could never kill him.
I shoved him back, his sniveling sending a mix of repulsion and disgust and pity through me, the taste of it bitter in the back of my throat. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Please, I can’t do it myself. I can’t…”
“You don’t deserve death. You deserve to live with what you are and what you’ve done.”
“I can’t. She won’t let me rest. She’s everywhere, in my dreams, in the shadows, whispering, blaming me.”
“Jesus Christ…”
“If you loved me you’d do it.” His watery eyes pleaded with me. Trying to guilt me, manipulate me into taking the gun.
“I don’t love you.” I spun, determined now to reach that door and get the fuck out of there. How far my father had fallen, and it scared me to watch him.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled behind me. “You were always such a fucking disappointment.” I knew he was trying to anger me, to get me to turn around and snatch that gun off him. His words fell against my deadened heart and slid off. “You know you were never really mine. You’re a bastard belonging to one of your whore mother’s lovers.”
I flinched, but I kept walking. Perhaps it would have been a relief to think that I wasn’t really his. But I looked too much like him for there to be any doubt.
I paused at the door, my repressed anger sliding down my throat like a pill, and I said the words I would die regretting. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you should just kill yourself.”
He didn’t respond. I stepped out of the room and closed the door behind me, the clicking sound of the lock releasing a flood of guilt at the words I said to my own father. I am a terrible son. I should go back in there. Apologize.
My pride won out. He had hurt me too many times. I was too fucking weary from our fights, our arguments that never would resolve anything.
I let go of the door handle and took a step away.
That’s when I heard it.
Bang.
I’d never forget the sound a gun made when it went off, the sharpness inside your ear, the pressure against your eardrums, the way it seemed to penetrate your skin with electricity, making your body flinch. Even muffled through that wooden door.
I’d never forget running back into my father’s study, seeing the spray of blood all over the back of the armchair and the wall behind it. I collapsed by his side and I gripped his shoulders.
And all that blood on my hands.
62
____________
Drake
I searched her face when I finished my story. I saw no judgement there. No accusations. Only love.
She took my hand and led me out of the darkness of the west wing and to her bedroom, filled with light.
We stood in the center of her room just as we did a year ago. My heart was in my throat as she slowly undressed me, starting with the buttons on my shirt and pushing it off my shoulders. She commanded me. She owned me. Even after I grabbed her, my need snapping apart my control, she possessed me.
My redemption.
My salvation.
My wife.
“How…” I whispered, when we lay together afterwards, “how can you love someone like me?”
She looked at me with those beautiful eyes and smiled. “Kintsugi.”
“What does that mean?”
“In Japan we repair broken pottery using lacquer made of gold,” she traced right across my heart, “because we believe our flaws, our cracks, are precious. There is no need to disguise them or try to hide them. They are part of your history. Part of your beauty.”
A love so ferocious rose up to swallow me. I reached for her hand, my fingers shaking. “Marry me.”
She cleared her throat. “I hate to be the one to tell you this but…we’re already married.”
I shook my head. “You married me because you needed the money. Marry me again because you need me.”
She let out a sigh. “No.”
No? The word looped around my throat and threatened to strangle me.
“I’ll marry you because I love you.”
Happiness unlike anything I’ve ever known surged through my body. Could it be possible? Could this happiness belong to me? Was it mine? To keep? To hold?
She shot me a smirk. “Besides, you owe me a proper wedding.”
I chuckled. “That I can do.”
She raised an eyebrow. “One where you actually show.”
“I’ll get Sam to put it in my calendar.”
She poked my ribs with her free hand.
I grabbed her hand so she couldn’t do it again. “You and your family name the date,” I kissed each dainty knuckle, “you tell me where and what and how and I’ll make it happen.” I pulled her over my naked body, my hardness nudging at her entrance. “But right now? I want to make babies with you.”
For once, my wife didn’t argue.
Epilogue
____________
Drake
Nine months later…
“Just one more push. Come on, Noriko,” the doctor said.
My wife, still stunning even covered in sweat, bore down and grit her teeth with her effort.
I hung back behind the wall of nurses, my insides feeling like they were winding around and around a spool.
I thought of all the changes I’d made over the last nine months. I converted my bedroom into a nursery and now Noriko’s bedroom was ours. The guest bedrooms opposite our room were reserved for Noriko’s sisters and father when they came to visit during every school holiday. I cleared out the west wing, dusting off those old ghosts and letting the light back into each corner, and turned it into a children’s paradise with bedrooms and a huge playroom, our kids getting their own wing when they were older.
Noriko had plans to open up a gallery in the next few years. I taught business part-time at a local university and was taking photography lessons for fun.
None of this felt like it meant anything at this second.
I was going to be a father.
I had never been more terrified in my life.
I had my father’s blood in my veins. I had his blood. I’d made different choices. Would it be enough? The fingers of my past reached out for me like ghostly arms.
Noriko let out a cry and another smaller cry joined hers.
Our baby.
She did it.
My wife did it.
She gave birth.
“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell, you have a healthy baby boy.” The nurse placed a swath of cloth into Noriko’s arms.
I still couldn’t move. The panic gripped me like vines wrapped around a tree. Oh God, what have I done? I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t—
“Drake?” Noriko called to me.
Only then did I move, drawn to her side by her voice just like I had been drawn to her since the very beginning. She handed me our boy, pushing him into my stiff arms. He was as light and fragile as a doll. I could barely look at him. Oh God, what if I—?
“Look at him, Drake. Breathe.”
Reacting purely at the a
uthority in my wife’s voice, I forced my eyes down. In my arms, wrapped in a pale blue blanket was my son—our son. The room faded away, until it was just Noriko’s hand on my back and this—this miracle.
He had a tiny squished-up face, with dark hair—mine—and olive skin—hers—and a set of Mona Lisa eyes that locked onto mine. A jolt like lightning snapped through my body, evaporating all my doubt. For the second time in my life, I fell in love.
“Hey little Mason,” I whispered to him, our first father-son moment. “I’m your papa. I’m here to tell you that you don’t need to worry about anything. You have the most incredible mama. She is kind and patient and the depth of her love is as endless as the universe. You are so lucky, my boy.”
I looked up to see Noriko watching me, a satisfied smile on her face. If it was even possible, my heart felt like it grew twice as large, swollen with more love than could fit in this galaxy.
Tears pricked my eyes and I turned back to my son. My boy. “As for your papa? Well, your mama has made him a better man. He will be an even better man for you. You’ll be proud of him, I swear, like he’s already proud of you.” I leaned in to press a kiss to his smooth, tiny forehead.
“I’m staying,” I whispered just for him, “I promise.”
The End
Dear Readers,
It was only after I published Girl Wife Prisoner (the novel this story was born from) that I realized the real main character was Drake. He was the most complex and broken character. He had the most to learn. His growth was most interesting. And the countless messages from you guys telling me that he was your favorite character just confirmed it.
That’s why I unpublished Girl Wife Prisoner. So I could rewrite the story and give Drake and Noriko the story they deserved.
I hope you enjoyed it!
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Have you read Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife 1)?
Revenge never looked so sexy…
My name is…was Alena Ivanova.
Five years ago, I made a mistake. A big one. One that cost me the only man I will ever love.
Now in the lonely moors of north England, I live with my cold, cruel husband. My only friend is his daughter from a previous marriage. At least I didn’t starve to death during the bitter Russian winter.
When my husband arranges for a potential investor to stay with us, a mysterious self-made millionaire by the name of Mr. Wolf, imagine my shock when he walks in…
My name is…was Dimitri Volkov.
Until the love of my life broke me.
Five years I’ve worked for this moment. Five years I’ve dreamed of revenge.
But as my eyes rest upon her, I don’t expect to be smacked in the gut with these unwanted feelings. To remember the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin.
I will possess her.
I will consume her.
I will have my revenge.
Warning: Prepare for a broody, angsty, tortured hero. This is a full-length sexy-as-hell standalone contemporary romance with a HEA. No panties needed.
Out now
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Irish Kiss
Sienna Blake
Saoirse
I wanted him since the day I met him. Long haired, tattooed and tall as an Irish giant. He was more than just handsome, he was drop dead gorgeous. And the only one who ever truly cared. It didn’t matter to him that my father was a criminal and my mother a whore. He saw me, understood me.
I could be anything I wanted, he said.
Except his.
Because I was too young and he was my Juvenile Liaison Officer.
Diarmuid
It’s been years since I last saw her. No longer a girl, she has a body of a woman. When our eyes met again, I saw the only one who never judged me. It didn’t matter to her that I had no one and that I would never be good enough. She saw me, accepted me.
She could be anything she wanted.
Except mine.
Cause she’s only seventeen and I’m trying my hardest not to fall for her.
If I give in, she will ruin me.
*This is a slow-burn love story spanning across a seven-year time period. This is a standalone novel with a Happily Ever After, but damn, it is going to hurt leading up to it.
Coming early 2018
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Excerpt of Beautiful Revenge
Dimitri’s eyes darken when he sees me, rejection flashing in them like lightning. “What do you want?”
I close the door behind me and walk towards him, my steps shaky. My hands are clammy and I have to keep wiping them on my skirt. I have to stay strong. “I’m here to ask you, no…to beg you—”
“Alena Ivanova is begging me?” Dimitri leans against the wall, a cruel glint in his eyes. He lifts his drink to the air as if to salute me. “Do go on.”
“Please,” my voice warbles, “leave.”
“Leave this room?” he asks with mock surprise.
Bastard. He knows very well what I’m asking. “Leave this house. Do business with my husband if you must, but please, leave me,” and Emily, “alone.”
He stares at me, the right side of his lip lifting in a horrible half-smile. “Get on your knees.”
“What?”
“If you’re going to beg, do it properly.”
Dimitri drops to his knees in front of me. His face has cracked wide open, but it’s not anger showing raw and naked on his face.
It’s desperation.
“Alena,” he grabs my hand, “I beg of you, don’t do this.”
“Dimi, I—”
“Don’t marry him. Marry me.”
My breath catches in my lungs. Dimitri watches me from across the room over his scotch glass. From the darkness in his eyes, I can tell he’s remembering the same thing.
I stiffen. “You can’t be serious.”
“You want me to leave? Get. On. Your. Knees.”
He wants to crush me. To wound my pride like I did his. He is crueller than ever.
You did this to him.
I’ll do it if it will get him away from me, then I can just go back to my life. It was empty but at least I had Emily to love. Now, with him here, I can barely love her.
I slide to my kn
ees. His eyes flash with fiery triumph. “Please, Dimitri. Please, leave.”
Dimitri places his drink on the side table and pushes off the wall, striding towards me. My breath turns to stone in my throat as he stands right before me. I am well aware of the suggestive position I am in. His cock is at eye level. I force myself not to look at it. Instead I look up, locked into the intensity of his stare. I know he wants to demean me. To embarrass me. My body burns with the indignity of it. Heat pools between my legs.
I gasp when he places his fingertips on my cheek, a riot of sparks cascading from his touch. He brushes my hair off my face almost tenderly. My heart skitters with hope.
His perfect lips pull into a smile. “No.”
The bastard. I leap to my feet, my hands in fists by my side. “You told me you’d leave if I begged.”
“No,” he says in a bored tone, “I told you to beg on your knees. I made no promises as to the outcome of your begging.” He turns away as if to dismiss me.
My body shakes with rage. I grab his arm and whip him around to face me. “I’ll tell my husband who you are. He’ll kick you—”
“You tell him who I am and I’ll tell him we slept together.”
I gasp. “You wouldn’t.” My contract. If I’m deemed to have been promiscuous I lose everything. More than lose everything, I’ll owe my husband a hundred thousand pounds. It’s a debt I can never hope to crawl out of.
Dimitri’s eyes glitter with mad pleasure. He has me over a barrel. And he knows it. “Do you wish to test me?”
He would do it too. I can see it in his eyes. “Edgar won’t believe you,” I try.
Dimitri grabs my upper arms with his hands, gripping me tight as vices. “Really? What are you doing in my room, Mrs Worthington?”
I struggle against him. “Let go.”
He pulls me closer, crushing me against his hard body. “Go on,” he says, “scream. Alert your husband to your presence in my room.”