“Get in the car, Isa,” Bryant growls into my ear while his hand is pressed firmly against my lower back.

I smile my ‘smile’ and give one last polite wave to our family and friends before gripping my dress in the palm of my hand and slipping into the backseat of the limo. Bryant’s family was normal which surprised me. I didn’t quite expect his mom to be so…. Motherly? I don’t know, but a man like Bryant just screamed to me mommy issues, so that left me with thoughts of his father, but was proven wrong there too. His father, all though he seemed rather brooding, was in my opinion, normal. Everything about his damn family was normal and just… nice. My family and their rich ass friends were always such assholes to other people. I always thought it was money that made people assholes, but nope. Bryant’s parents sure shat on that theory.

My smile drops as soon as I’m in the enclosure of the limo. I reach for the unopened bottle of champagne, unwrapping the cork and quickly popping it off. Without seeking out any wine glasses, I bring the rim of the bottle to my mouth and pound it back, letting the bitter rich liquid bubble down my throat. In the corner of my eye, I see Bryant slide into the chair opposite me, but I keep drinking.

I’m a wife.

A. Fucking. Wife.

I feel like I should be wearing a “ain’t no wifey” shirt right now. I’m not fucking wife material, I’m life-changer, will-fuck-your-world-up, bitch-with-problems, material.

Bryant chuckles, slamming the door closed and that’s when I lower my lovely bottle of champ while wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. All class, obviously. Hashtag classy wifey.

“What!” I snap at him, raising the bottle once more to take a drink.

“I didn’t say anything, wife,” he snarls. The pet name sets off goosebumps, or pissed off bumps, over my flesh. What the actual fuck have I done? I’ve made a lot of very questionable decisions in all my twenty years, but this…oh this has got to take the crack cake.

“Easy on the wife,” I add, as the limo drives away from our guests.

“I’ll call you what I want, but for the record, that’s exactly what the fuck you are.” He loosens his tie and tosses it across the seat. His dark eyes come to mine, and I take this time to scan his features, what with the soft lighting in the limo casting shadows over his chiseled jaw. There’s no denying how stunning Bryant Royal is. No questioning at all. But then again, that’s never been the issue.

“Why me?” I ask, you know, classic me, spitting out whatever is on my mind before I can throw up any kind of filter. “I mean,” I rest the bottle of champagne between my thighs, “I mean, just why me?”

He pauses, and my eyes come to where his index finger is working his upper lip. Just when I’m about to tap out and look away from his annoyingly sexy glare, he answers. “Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

“No.” I want to scoff, but I can’t find the will to do it. It’s somewhere between all the tension that has heightened to dangerous levels, and the urge to punch him square in the nose.

He exhales, reaching forward and taking the bottle from between my legs. “Good. At least you have something switched on in that brain.”

“Not funny.” I throw back at him, my eyes narrowed.

“I’m not trying to be funny, Isa.” He takes a large gulp of champagne, his Adam’s apple bobbing past his swallow.

“Well then what, Bryant. I know what I did to your brother… but why would you want to marry someone who took someone so close to you?”

He stops, his eyes snap straight to mine and if I didn’t know any better by knowing that it wasn’t (actually) possible, I’d say flames roared inside those dark pupils. “Why the fuck do you have to ask so many questions?” He tilts his head and runs his eyes over my body. “For someone who didn’t ask fuck all questions when she was supposed to, you sure ask a lot now.”

“That’s not fair,” I flinch, mumbling it more to myself than to him because truly, someone like Bryant doesn’t give a flying fuck about what I think is fair.

“A lot of shit isn’t fair,” ding, ding, ding, maybe I should have been a psychic, “but you being incapable of asking questions is not one of them.” Oh, we’re definitely going to kill each other before we’ve even reached the boring phase of marriage.

Deciding to ignore him for the rest of the trip, I lean my head against the cool window and watch the passing of trees. All these recent events have had me thinking about Brooke a lot. I think she’s with her dad somewhere, I haven’t heard from her in some time.

Looking to Bryant out of the corner of my eye, I want to ask him what we’re doing. What his plan is and why he had to marry me. Aside from being the president’s daughter, and having history with his brother, I don’t see why he would (truly) benefit from having me as his wife.

Pulling into the underground parking lot, we get out of the limo and I clutch my dress in my hand. This isn’t as I imagined I spend the night of my wedding, not that I thought about it much, but still, I watch movies, and this isn’t usually how it plays out, but then again, nothing ever is.

Going back into the penthouse, I toss my phone onto the counter and head straight for the fridge. Taking out the only champagne bottle I see in there, I rip the cork off and bring it to my lips. I hear Bryant snicker behind me. “You know I have glasses, right?”

Swallowing the bubbles, I turn to face him while letting my hair down. “You know it’s our wedding night, right?”

His mouth snaps closed as his eyes darkened. “Don’t ask for something you ain’t ready for, Isa.”

“Mmmm.” I inch my finger up. “And who says that I’m not ready? Sex, yes, Marriage, no.”

Bryant comes closer, so I step backward until I’m colliding with the fridge doors. Once he’s close, he brings both fists up to my head and cages me in. He tilts his head, running his tongue over his teeth before his lip curls up. “Take off your dress,” he growls, so deep that it awakens that same dark little girl who shamelessly begs for Bryant every day. Every night. Every time he flashes those annoying fucking eyes toward me, she stirs deep inside me begging to be fucked—hard. Instantly, my fingers find the back of my dress until I’m slowly zipping it down. Bryant’s head drops down as he watches my flesh slowly be revealed to him. He steps backward, reaching for the bottle of champagne from my other hand, and then bringing it to his mouth. He takes a long pull of it, but his eyes remain on mine. Just as the tight silk drops off my skin and the fresh air pinches my nipples, a growl comes from his chest.

Yikes! The no bra idea was obviously a great idea. Leaning against the fridge, I smile at him, hooking my G-string and tugging it off. Swinging it around with my index finger, I reach out to Bryant, a slight smile on my mouth. “Is this what you want?” I close my eyes, my hips beginning to roll at the thought of Bryant right there, watching me. I don’t know why, but he sets my everything on fire. The erotic feeling engulfs me, and I get lost in it.

When he doesn’t answer, I carry on. “Is it?” My eyes are closed as my fingers involuntarily find my clit. “To see, smell, taste what you do to me?”

A hand clenches around my throat, and my eyes snap open, straight onto Bryant’s. He takes my panties with his other hand and brings them to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Mine.”

I look into his eyes, seeing his Dominant come out. “Yours.”

He drops to his knees, and just like that, his mouth covers my clit and holy shit. I’m seeing stars. His tongue gliding over and between my folds as it hits my most sensitive of parts. Teasing, pleasuring, toying with every single aspect of myself. He knew exactly what to do and where to go as if he drew the damn map for my body. My breathing comes faster, as a groan erupts from my mouth. He stops. All pleasure I was just receiving stopping with his, and he gets to his feet. Stepping closer to me, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth until every inch of my sweet tasting self owns my taste buds.

Wrapping his hands around the backs of my thighs, he picks me up and throws me down onto the kitchen bench, ripping his shirt off and then his pants. I inch up onto my elbows and watch as he massages his thick long cock with his hand as his eyes look over every inch of my exposed skin.

“You going to fuck me on the kitchen bench on our wedding night?”

He grins, getting up and crawling up my body. “Fucking right I am.”

* * *

Beep

Beep

Beep

What’s that sound?

I gasp loudly, my back arching off the bed as I get sucked out of my deep sleep, or memory, I’ve yet to figure out what is what. The dark night envelopes me in Bryant’s—and I guess my—master bedroom, where he sleeps beside me.

I shiver, the cool wind of the night whisking through the open window and I throw my blanket off, walking around to close it. My silk robe now clings to my sweaty flesh as I push down on the window, closing out the busy night down below.

“Isa…” Bryant leans up on his elbows, watching me closely.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I mutter, going back to bed and slipping back under the covers. “Just had a bad dream.”

He pauses, I can see him watching me out of the corner of my eye. “You usually have dreams?”

I shrug. “Sometimes. Some are more vivid than others.” I hit the lamp switch, cutting off the light again and sink into the bed, bringing the covers up to my mouth.

Silence.

Then suddenly, he gets up from bed and tugs on his sweatpants.

“What are you doing?”

Flicking on his side of the lamp, I turn over to see him throwing on a hoodie. “Going for a run.”

I gaze at the time. “But it’s four in the morning?”

“Your point?” he asks, annoyance etching into his features. I want to say that I thought he only ran at night but thought better of it. Even at this ungodly hour, fresh out of bed, he looks beautiful. It’s not fair, he shouldn’t be this good-looking.

“My point is it’s four a.m.,” I repeat, matching his annoyed tone.

He takes out some headphones and puts them into his ears before throwing his hoodie over his head. I open my mouth, about to say something else when he turns and leaves.

Huffing out, I lay back on my back and gaze up at the ceiling. Why doesn’t he just kill me and get it over with? Because dragging it out is worse, I guess. That must be what he’s doing. This way, it lasts longer. Killing me would be too easy. But even as I think it, I know that there has to be more to this vendetta. Bryant Royal is calculated, smart, coherent. He’s one hundred steps ahead of the human race and about three steps behind God. There’s no outsmarting someone like him, there’s not even a chance that I could work out what he’s planning—but I’ll try.

Tossing and turning, I settle for the fact that I won’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon so I throw the covers off and get out of bed. Walking out of the master bedroom, I head down the stairs that lead to the main living areas when I hear the coffee pot starting up. Bryant must be home from his run. Wrapping my robe around my body, I enter the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks. It’s not Bryant that’s in there, it’s another woman, dressed half naked, wearing nothing but lace panties and a man’s white dress shirt.

Bryant’s suit shirt—I’m guessing, since he’s the only man that lives here.

“Ahh,” I start, clearing my throat. If Bryant thinks he can fuck around on me under my own nose he has another thing coming. Even though I shouldn’t care because our wedding is a fucking joke, still. It’s the principle. “Who the fuck are you?” I quip, it’s a step up from what Devon would have said—or done—thinking of Devon sets off a pang inside my chest. My yearning for him has intensified since last night, so I’ve decided I’m going to hunt him down today before calling my father to see if I can get any information out of him about this ridiculous fucking marriage.

Back to the slut in my kitchen.

The woman pauses, taking the mug from under the machine and bringing it to her lips, obviously unfazed by my intrusion.

She turns around slowly, smirking from beneath the rim. “I’m Jessica. And you are?” She tilts her head, looking me up and down. What the fuck is going on? And where the fuck is Bryant. And why is this bitch so damn fucking beautiful. Why the fuck am I even acknowledging that this bitch is beautiful? I need to get my cranium checked. We’ve been married for not even twenty-four hours, and he’s already putting his dick into other girls. Hot girls. Fuck.

Fuck that.

“Isa…” I pause, then smirk. “Isa Royal.”

Her mouth falls slightly before she places her mug on the kitchen table. “What the fuck has that idiot done.”

“Pardon?” I quirk my eyebrow, confused about her stance or audacity.

She rolls her eyes, pulling a chair out from under the table and taking a seat. “I’m Jessica Royal. Bryant’s sister.”

The shock that falls over my face tells her enough. I didn’t know Bryant had a sister, and nothing was said at the wedding either. Shit.

I tug out a chair and take a seat opposite her. She scans me, I scan her, both of us quite openly trying to assess each other. Then she hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “You don’t want a coffee?”

I shake my head, the confusion still probably marred over my face. “No. Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t know he had a sister?”

“Mmm.” She places the mug onto the table, hiking a knee up. “He doesn’t like to broadcast me that much because I’m a rebel that makes him look bad.” She takes a sip of coffee. “And I also only just flew in from Paris this morning.”

I laugh at her rebel comment, leaning back in my chair. We might get along. “I have to admit,” I answer, flicking the rings around my fingers. “When I saw you standing here, I thought he had already put his dick where it shouldn’t belong.”

Jessica chokes on her coffee, banging her chest with her hand. “Shit,” she laughs. “Sorry, it’s just—and I mean this with no disrespect—but you’re not really Bryant’s type.”

“So I figured,” I answer, getting to my feet and deciding I need that coffee after all.

“I don’t mean that as in a bad thing, I mean he usually sleeps with these suit looking girls who are shy and submissive. Not so… crass?” I pour coffee into a mug and go back to the table.

I know that Bryant hasn’t been seen with another woman in the media, but I also know his appetite as a man. It’s a very large appetite, and he’s a very large man. The thought of tiny submissive girls being eaten by him flash through my brain and I chuckle.

“Well, I don’t know how to answer that.”

Her eyes narrow. “You look familiar; I’m trying to put my finger on it.” Then she shakes her head, taking another sip of her coffee. “Must look like an actress or something.”

I clear my throat. “Ahh, maybe, or might be because my father is Peter Johnson, as in the President.”

Her eyes snap to mine, her dark long hair piling over her shoulders and her green eyes bright. “Oh my God!” She laughs, her straight white teeth showing through. She looks so much like Bryant. “Isa Johnson! I’ve heard of you and your party ways.”

I lean back in my chair, blowing on my coffee. “Yeah, those were the good days.”

“It makes sense now,” she mutters.

“What does?” I tilt my head.

She pauses, looks at me and then takes a sip of coffee. “My brother marrying you—no offense. But Bryant only ever does things if it works in his favor. He’s a businessman first, and a brother/family man second. Business is always his number one.”

I smile, nodding in agreement. “You have no idea.” Bringing me back to my original question, I nudge my head toward her. “Do you live here?”

She shakes her head. “Nope, I just crash here whenever I’m in town, oh, and I ahhh… sleep with his security guard occasionally.”

It’s my turn to choke on my coffee now. “Shit. And he’s okay with that?” I clear my throat.

She shrugs. “Definitely not, but he can’t say anything.”

I laugh. The thought of Bryant not being able to say anything is laughable. If there’s any man walking this earth that will always be able to say something, it’s Bryant. “Well, that’s amusing,” I whisper to myself, raking my long hair out of my face.

The front door opens and closes and my eyes shoot up toward it. Bryant walks in, his hoodie still over his head and his face drenched in sweat.

“That was a long run, brother dearest.” Jessica bats her eyelashes at her brother, her head tilted backward.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls, though I note, there was a softness to that growl.

“Ahh,” she clicks her fingers, “the question is who am I doing here…”

“He’s fired.” Bryant yanks open the fridge and takes out a bottled water, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink while keeping his eyes locked on his baby sister.

“Bryant.” Jessica gets off her chair and walks toward the sink. “Stop being ridiculous.”

As if on cue, the bodyguard, one who I hadn’t met yet, (though that’s not that unbelievable considering the time I’ve been in this world), walks into the kitchen, his shirt off and scratching his head. He’s young, maybe mid-twenties.

Bryant turns to him. “You’re fired. Pack your shit and be out before midday.”

Then he turns to me. “What are you doing today?”

“Bryant! You’re not being fair,” Jessica moans like a sulking toddler.

Bryant looks at her over his shoulder. “You’re right,” then looks back to the bodyguard. “Pack your shit and be gone within the next half an hour.”

Bringing his attention back to me, he raises his eyebrows. Guess that’s my cue to answer, so I shrug, blowing into my mug of coffee until steam floats. “Find Devon, I suppose.”

Bryant’s face freezes. “Devon?”

I nod, looking at Jessica briefly, who is too busy eye-fucking her bodyguard to listen to our conversation. “Yes, my best friend and roommate who you sort of ripped me away from.”

He shrugs as if it’s no skin off his back, which it’s not, but still, he could at least act like he feels a little like shit for ruining my life. Then he comes to me, leans down and places a kiss on my head. The gesture damn right threw me off because hell no is it like him at all. “We got a tone of shit to sort today.” He inches back and looks into my eyes. “I’d appreciate If you were there.”

A little taken back by his PDA, I whisper, “Sure,” softly. He pushes off my chair and goes to walk out of the kitchen, glaring at Jessica. “Stop sleeping with my workers, Jess, or I will cut off your rights to come in and out.” Then takes the stairs one at a time.

“Well, that was odd,” Jessica looks like she’s seen a ghost, her skin pale and her eyes as wide as saucers. I know she’s not talking about his reaction to the bodyguard.

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, standing up and emptying my cup in the sink.

The young bodyguard dude walks further into the kitchen. “Jessica, I can’t lose my job.”

“It’ll be fine, you’ll find another.” She smiles, then winks at him. The girl is a savage. He shakes his head in disbelief but looks like he doesn’t want to argue with her, and then walks out of the kitchen, back to wherever he came from. I really should ask Bryant about the arrangements around his house. I didn’t even know that his workers stayed here.

She turns over her shoulder and looks at me. “We’re going to be great friends.” I’m sure we are, actually, I know we are. Tidying up the counter, I pack away the milk and other scatterings that are left out. I’m not tidy, not in the slightest. I drop my shit everywhere and I’m comfortable with that fact, but kitchen benches are one thing I can’t stand to be messy. After I’ve cleaned, I make my way upstairs and into the master bedroom, taking in the beautiful view. The floor to ceiling windows mold the front of the room, casting a perfect view of the Upper East Side. The four post bed that sits opposite a large television and… oh my fucking God! I gasp, my hand coming to my mouth just as I hear Bryant walk into the room. “Is that?” I point to the artwork hanging on the wall, and no, it’s not the Mona Lisa, but fuck me it may as well be. “Is that Mark Rothko’s work?”

Bryant doesn’t answer, so I turn to face him. He’s smirking. Of course he is. Smug asshole. I change tactics because it obviously is Rothko’s work, and forgive me art gods, I’m only saying this to wipe the smug look off of Bryant’s face.

Shrugging, I grin. “Figures you’d own Mark Rothko.”

That gets his attention because he cocks his head and pushes off the wall, coming into the room more. “And why do you say that?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” I look directly at him now, my eyes dancing with mischief. “The artwork is about as bland as you.” Now, I only know his work because Lydia has one of his pieces in her library, and I don’t know, I’ve always been fascinated by art and people’s different views of one picture.

After a long pause, Bryant throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, ok, and who would you have hanging on your wall, hmmm?”

I don’t even have to think. It’s instant. “Alec Monopoly or Banksy.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bryant groans, shaking his head. “Isa, that isn’t…”

“Don’t say it, Royal. Don’t say it.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “But there will be none of that on my walls.”

Yeah, we’ll see. He turns his head toward the shower. “Won’t be long.”

I cast a look to the bathroom, sucking my bottom lip in and nod. “Sure.” Before I can think about getting in with him, the bathroom door closes. I quite like this side of Bryant. The carefree side, I hope I see more of that side through this completely false marriage. Walking into the closet, I take out some skinny jeans and a casual tank top. I hope wherever he’s taking me doesn’t have a dress code because even if it did, I wouldn’t change. Yes, it’s so official, Bryant and I are complete worlds apart.

After I’ve changed, I pull a brush through my long hair just as a voice clears from behind me. I whip my head toward the bathroom door to find Bryant standing there naked with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The water cascades down his six-pack abs and then disappears somewhere between the edges of his V. So me not going in there was obviously a shit decision because now my lady parts are fucking tingling like no one’s business. Well, Bryant’s business, but you catch my drift. That body is really not fair, and what’s even worse, I know what it feels like under my fingertips. What it tastes like on the tip of my tongue, and how his thigh muscles clench when—“Isa?” Bryant interrupts my dirty thoughts, and I quickly look up to meet his eyes, my cheeks flashing hot. Fuck.

“Yes?” I answer innocently, eyebrows quirked, a shit attempt at coming off as casual, though I’m guessing I’m making it more obvious the more I try to hide it, so I tilt my head and look over his arms.

“Wanna take a picture, babe? It’ll last longer.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, I just have a healthy sexual appetite and I must say…” I tease, slowly making my way toward the bed. New strategy: distraction. “It’s been a while since I’ve been fed.” You know, distract him away from the fact that I just got caught checking him out, but the way his eyes haven’t moved from mine and the way his shoulders are jiggling from laughter, I’d say I’m not winning. I’m beginning to realize I very rarely win when it comes to him, too.

“Get changed.” He nudges his head toward the closet, breaking through that fucking laugh.

“Why? Where we going?” I brush off, trying not to sound offended by his blatant rejection.

He walks into the closet. “Stop asking questions.”