Twisted Together

The sort of interview where you finally understand how much people adore you.

I laughed. “I think a few women are in love with my husband for what he’s done—and I can share in that respect—but I do get rather possessive.”

Q’s lips tugged into half a smile. “Are you talking about the threatened restraining order last month, Tess? Surely not. Not you, my sweet blonde wife who would never put any claim on me.”

My heart raced remembering my threat and the consequences that came with it. Q had thoroughly proven why I had no need for jealousy—granting me another mark right above my belly button, so I would always remember.

I grinned, placing an owning palm on his thigh. “I’d fight for you, Q. I did fight for you. And every day I’ll never let you forget who you married and why.”

Fiona giggled. “Is it just me or did it rise a few degrees in here?” Pinching an éclair, she took a bite, and turned on the recording device again. “It’s so nice to see true love these days. I can tell I’m really going to enjoy this interview.”

The atmosphere changed from friendly to business. Crossing her legs, Fiona asked, “Okay, my first question is for Mrs Mercer. In fact, I don’t have any questions.” She waved her pen in the air. “Basically, I want to hear everything. Call me greedy, but I don’t want you to leave anything out.”

Q tensed, his leg muscles locking under my hand.

Fiona didn’t notice. “Tell you what—start from the day you got on the plane to Mexico.”

Q moved. Uncrossing his legs, he sat forward, steepling his hands between spread legs. Dominating. Governing. Stealing all my concentration and making me shamelessly wet.

My heart bolted, filling with words and memories and everything I would share.

This was it.

My story. My legacy. The one thing that would be immortalized onto pages and told forever. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t easy. But I would spare no emotion or detail. I would be honest to the very last word.

I opened my mouth to start. To tell my tale of heartache, love, and loss.

I’d waded through blackness and survived.

I’d fallen in love with a monster and thrived.

I’d danced into riches in every conceivable way.

But through it all, Q had been there. My monster in the dark.

Q grabbed my hand, bringing it to his lips. “L’histoire n’a pas commencé au Mexique.” The story didn’t start in Mexico.

Fiona frowned, “Oh? Where did it start?”

My brand seared, resonating with heat from Q’s intensity.

He glanced at me, sending fire into my soul. “Not where, but what.”

I melted. Utterly melted for my incredible husband. He understood me. He’d always understood me.

Fiona leaned forward, hanging on Q’s every word. “What?”

“A number. It all began with a number. For me anyway.”

My heart soared from my chest on sparrow wings. Birds filled my body—blackbirds, robins, and fantails.

I smiled. “That’s true. That was the beginning. The rest doesn’t matter.”

Fiona’s cheeks pinked as Q never looked away from me, sending the room swirling with desire. The moment the interview was over, Q would take me.

And I would be ready to accept whatever he wanted to give.

“What number?” she breathed.

Q tore his gaze from mine, locking her in his fierce pale stare. He riveted us with his power, trapping us in his net. “Fifty-eight. It all began with fifty-eight. And that’s where my wife will start.”

I looked at my wrist, tracing the numbers beneath the barcode and sparrow. I’d once been merchandise for sale. But then the winds of fate changed and blew me straight to Q. His cage became my home. His love became my wings. I became his bird through and through.

Tears pricked my eyes. I was so utterly happy, so faultlessly content, so completely complete.

Fifty-eight.

I’m Esclave Fifty-Eight. The girl who broke her owner.

My master had spoken.

I began.