All Chapters of Unholy Matrimony: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

EveI’m half-sitting on the arm of Dominik's chair, watching Senator Miller looking decidedly uncomfortable on the opposite side of the desk."He’s sweating," I murmur in Dominik’s ear, capping the fountain pen I just used to sign as witness to the contract. Pretending like I’m not the one who put it together.Dominik is leaning back in his obsidian chair, one leg crossed over the other, looking like he owns every atom in the room."Of course he is," he replies lazily. "He just realized he sold his soul."Across the desk, Senator Miller is dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. He looks smaller than he did at the Gala. The bluster is gone, replaced by the nervous twitch of a man who knows he’s stepped into a trap he can't chew his leg out of."This clause about the oversight committee," Miller stammers, pointing a trembling finger at the document. "It gives you veto power over zoning permits issued to any other applicants. We never discussed that. It puts me in a very precarious po

DominikThe breakfast table is a landscape of cold porcelain and even colder silence.Eve is sitting at the opposite end of the long mahogany table. She’s wearing a high-necked, sleeveless black blouse that covers the diamond collar I forced on her yesterday, but I know it’s there. I can see the outline under the halterneck.She hasn't looked at me since she sat down. She’s pushing a piece of melon around her plate with a silver fork, her movements mechanical.She’s back to hating me this morning.It’s for the best.Hate is a clean fuel. It burns hot and fast, and it keeps the engine running without clogging the gears with sentiment. Yesterday in the jewelry store, I reminded her of the hierarchy. I reminded her that she’s my possession.One with unexpected uses and depth, but still an object, bought and paid for. I hurt her pride, which was unavoidable. I needed to do it. The last few days, feeling like we’re equal partners, the shared laughter in the elevator, the way I held her in

EveI’m lying in bed, stiff as a corpse, wearing a black slip that feels less like lingerie and more like a shroud. I haven't slept. I haven't read the book lying open on the nightstand. I’ve spent the last four hours staring at the ceiling, replaying the fight in the gym, listening for the sound of his footsteps.He didn't come to dinner.Luciana brought a tray up to the room, her eyes averted, sensing the radioactive fallout in the house. I picked at a salad. I drank two glasses of wine.Now, I wait. My heart kicks against my ribs with a traitorous, frantic rhythm when I hear the door opening.Dominik must have showered in a different room. He’s wearing nothing but black sleep pants that hang low on his hips, exposing the V-cut of his pelvic muscles. His hair is damp, combed back from his face. His expression is terrifyingly blank.He doesn't look at me. He walks to the dresser, removing his watch. The heavy gold clinks against the wood."You’re still awake," he states. "It’s har

EveI’m sitting in my new office on the top floor of the Tower. It’s a glass-walled shark tank that rivals Dominik’s. Offering a panoramic view of the city I am slowly, methodically helping my husband devour. My desk is a slab of black marble, devoid of personal items. No photos. No trinkets. Just the tools of the trade. A secure laptop, three cell phones, and a stack of dossiers that would topple the city council if leaked.It’s a relief not to have to look at Dominik's face all day anymore. I get a lot more done."Marcus," I say, cutting off the lobbyist’s yammering in my ear. "I don't care that Councilman Yates is having a crisis of conscience. Tell him that if he votes nay on the zoning amendment, his wife receives the dossier on his weekend trips to Atlantic City. Specifically, the photos from the Sapphire Lounge.""Mrs. Grimaldi, that’s..." Marcus whispers on the other end. "He’s a family man.""Not according to the photos on my desk," I reply, my voice smooth and cold. "Which

DominikThe calendar notification on my phone flashed at 6:00 AM and I dismissed it without looking. I didn't need a reminder. I know the date she was born better than I know my own. I know the exact moment she entered this world to become my inevitable headache.I’ve watched her all day.I watched her as we left for the Tower. I watched her terrorize a councilman before lunch. I watched her walk through the front door this evening, her spine stiff enough to snap, her chin held high.She assumes I forgot. Most wives would mention it. They’d drop hints. They’d offer up long-suffering sighs.Mine does none of that. She acts as if today is just another Tuesday in purgatory. She refuses to give me the satisfaction of knowing I disappointed her. She’s locked her expectations in a vault and swallowed the key.I’m waiting at the bottom of the grand staircase when she comes down for dinner.She’s changed out of her work clothes into a black dress. It’s almost severe in its simplicity. She do