Chapter 70: My Husband Is a Psychopath, But at Least He Has Good Taste?

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I wrapped the sheet around myself and scowled. He looked way too pleased with himself.

Breakfast showed up twenty minutes later. I had no idea how the staff could move so quietly, but somehow an entire tray appeared in the room without anyone acknowledging the fact that I was sitting in bed looking like I’d just lost a battle with my own dignity.

There were toast, eggs, fruit, tea, coffee, and a bowl of something that looked far too healthy for my current emotional state. I dove straight for the toast.

Lorenzo watched me. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop staring at me, perv."

"I like watching you eat."

"That’s possibly the strangest thing you’ve ever said."

"I meant that I like knowing you’re taking care of yourself."

"Oh." I glanced down at my plate, feeling a little warm inside. That was unexpectedly sweet...I decided to ignore it and shoved half a piece of toast into my mouth.

We ate in silence for a while. The quiet wasn’t awkward anymore, which was probably another sign that my life had taken a terrible turn. I was getting used to him...dangerous territory.

I didn’t like how natural it felt to be beside him in bed, stealing fruit from his plate while he sipped his coffee, watching me with quiet satisfaction. I especially didn’t like how much I liked it.

How the fuck was I supposed be free at this point?!

By the time we finished breakfast, Lorenzo got out of bed, took a shower and started getting dressed. I watched from beneath the blanket as he pulled on a dark shirt, buttoning it with the serene efficiency he applied to everything.

"Where are you headed?" I mumbled, asking out of curiosity before I could stop myself.

"An urgent meeting."

"About the attack?"

He glanced over at me. "Among other things."

I frowned and he picked up his watch. "Don’t stress your pretty head over it."

I immediately scowled. "Don’t call me that."

"Pretty head?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me sound dumber than I ready am."

His expression softened. "I don’t think you’re dumb."

I watched him fasten his watch, then my eyes flicked to the scars, the ones I had seen in the pool, the old marks on his body that he had refused to explain.

"What happened to you?"

His hands stilled. The warmth drained from his face. "What do you mean?"

"The scars."

He gazed at me for a long time. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"That’s not an answer." I frowned. "Dracula."

He stepped closer to the bed. For a moment, I thought he might actually tell me.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Rest today."

"You’re dodging the question."

"Yes."

I rolled my eyes, "At least you’re honest about it."

He straightened, and his gaze sharpened slightly. "And don’t try anything while I’m gone."

I stared at him. "Anything?"

"You know what I mean."

I crossed my arms. "What if I decide to go for a walk?"

"Then someone will accompany you."

"What if I want to go outside?"

"You won’t."

"What if I decide to run away again?"

His expression didn’t budge. "You won’t get very far."

I shot him a suspicious look. "How far?"

His mouth curved slightly. "Far enough to make it inconvenient for me."

I didn’t laugh, he stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"And if you get crazy enough to keep trying..." He touched my cheek, his expression almost tender. "I’d have to break your legs to keep you here."

I stared at him, the softness in his voice making his words hit harder. "Uh... you’d do what now?"

"I wouldn’t enjoy it."

"That’s supposed to make me feel better?!"

"No." His thumb brushed my cheek. "But desperate times call for desperate measures."

I swallowed. "Is...is that how you treat someone you love?"

His smile was calm, almost affectionate.

"Of course not." I waited for more, but he added quietly, "But like I said before, desperate times call for desperate measures."

I looked at him, horrified. "You really need better romantic lines."

"I’ll work on it."

He kissed my forehead again, then turned to leave. "Dracula."

He paused. "The guy from yesterday?"

His expression turned icy. "The attacker?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"What’ll you do with him?"

A chilling smile crept onto his face. "Once I have enough intel, I’ll kill him."

Then he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stared at it, wondering whether I was more unsettled by the threat or by the way Lorenzo had said it, so casually as if he were merely planning to pick up groceries.

Hours later, I was sitting cross-legged on the bed still wondering how the hell I had gotten myself a psychopath/husband/doting husband/ prison warden...

When there was a knock. A maid stepped in carrying a large box. "Sir, this was delivered for you."

I felt suspicion rise immediately. "What is it?"

She set it down on the bed. "Your books."

My eyes widened. "My books?"

"The ones that got destroyed, the master asked for the ones you bought to be replaced."

I stared at the box, then opened it. For a moment, I forgot about Lorenzo, the attack, the scars, and even the fact that my husband had casually discussed breaking my legs before leaving.

There were books. So many of them. My horror novels. Some were familiar titles, replacements for those I’d lost during the ambush, but a few more were editions I had only ever seen online.

I picked one up.

"Wait." I flipped it over. "This is a limited edition."

The maid smiled. "Yes, sir."

I grabbed another. "And this one isn’t even available anymore."

"Master Lorenzo arranged for them to be found."

I stared at the books, my fingers tracing the cover of one of the older editions. That made something stir in my chest, and I immediately brushed it aside.

I suppose he wasn’t playing around when he said he would try his best to make me like being stuck with him.

I spent the next thirty minutes digging through the box like a kid who just got an early Christmas gift, pausing now and then to admire covers or check publication dates.

I almost forgot the maid was still there until she cleared her throat. "Sir?"

"Hm?"

"There’s something else."

I looked up. She hesitated. "You have visitors."

I frowned. "Who?"

Her expression shifted to caution. "Your father, mother, and sister, sir."

My hand slowly dropped. The book I’d been holding suddenly felt a lot heavier. All the warmth that had filled the room moments before vanished.

I stared at the box, the books Lorenzo had sent because he knew exactly what I liked even as I thought nobody but myself did, and then back at the door.

My family had arrived. And just like that, my afternoon was ruined.