0002: Clinging To A Promise
1597 Words
ANNA'S POV
The soup had been on since four. The smell—bay leaf, slow stock—would have reached the hall by now, maybe further. I'd been at the stove since quarter to five. I'd spent the time stirring and not wondering whether he would come.
He had promised. I told myself this when I added the onions. When I turned down the heat. When I stood at the stove at quarter past six with nothing left to do but wait.
I was still thinking to myself when I heard the familiar click of heels against the stone floor before the door had finished opening. It was my sister in-law, Lucy and behind her, was none other than Felicia.
“Still playing cook,?” Lucy said, leaning against the counter. “I thought you’d be preparing for your big performance.”
I didn’t look up. I added salt to the soup. Then I turned.
Lucy stood with her arms crossed, her beautiful face arranged into something between disgust and disbelief. Beside her was Felicia. She looked different in the kitchen light, softer than the polished woman who had arrived at the pack three weeks ago. Her eyes were hard. She was studying me the way a wolf studies unfamiliar territory before deciding what to do with it.
“So it’s true,” Felicia said. “You’re holding the divorce hostage. For thirty days of what? A performance?”
“A marriage,” I said simply. “For thirty days, he’ll be my husband. The way he promised to be six years ago.”
Lucy laughed. It was ugly. “You think a month of fake dinners and forced smiles will change anything? He loves Felicia. He’s always loved Felicia. You’re just the obligation our dying father shoved onto him.”
I nodded slowly. “I know.”
That stopped her. “You know?”
“I’ve always known.” I met Lucy’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve known for six years that I was a placeholder. That I was chosen because I was convenient.” I paused. “I’m not asking him to fall in love with me. I’m asking him to keep one promise before I leave forever.”
Felicia stepped forward. Close enough that I could smell her perfume.
“And what about me?” she asked quietly. “What about the years I lost? The mate they took from me? The cruelty I endured while you sat in his house, wearing the title that should have been mine?”
I looked at her. Really looked.
There was pain there. Genuine pain, not performance. She had been given to a brutal Alpha. She had scars I had seen on her arms in passing. She had suffered. But so had I.
“I’m not your enemy, Felicia,” I said.
Her eyes flashed. “You’re standing in my place.”
“Your place was taken from you by your own father’s debt. Not by me.” I kept my voice level. “I was taken from nowhere and given to a man who didn’t want me. We’re the same, you and I. We’re both women who were sold.”
Lucy scoffed. “Don’t compare yourself to her. She’s a widow. A mother. You’re just an orphan who got lucky.”
I smiled. It didn’t reach my eyes.
“Lucky,” I repeated. “Six years of eating in this kitchen while your family celebrated at the table twenty feet away.” I tilted my head. “So lucky.”
Lucy’s face reddened.
“You think this bargain makes you powerful?” she said. “Thirty days of fake affection? He’ll go through the motions, and then you’ll sign, and then you’ll be nothing again.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But for thirty days, I’ll be something. That’s more than I’ve had in six years.”
Felicia’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “You’re asking for thirty days of something he never gave you in six years,” she said. “What makes you think you’re worth it now?”
I held her gaze. My voice did not waver.
“Because I’m not asking him to love me,” I said. “I’m asking him to keep a promise. And if he can’t even do that — then I’ll know. Completely. And I’ll leave without looking back.”
Felicia’s fingers tightened at her sides. Just slightly. She didn’t like that I sounded sure.
“And after?” she pressed. “Where will you go? What will you do? You have no family. No pack that will take you. No money of your own.”
She meant it as a wound. A reminder of my powerlessness. I let her believe it.
“That’s my concern,” I said. “Not yours.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Felicia said finally. “You think these thirty days will give you closure. They won’t. They’ll just make it harder when he walks away.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But that’s my mistake to make.”
She stared at me. Something shifted in her expression not pity, but recognition. Then she turned and walked away.
Lucy lingered. Her smile narrowed to something quieter and more precise. “He’ll be very kind about it, you know,” she said. “At the end. That’s the worst part.”
She followed Felicia into the house.
~~
That night, I set the table for two.
Candles. Flowers. The good ware I had never used. I arranged everything carefully, then changed into a cream dress I had not worn in two years. Put my hair down. A careful amount of effort — not for him. For the version of myself I intended to be when I walked out of this house in thirty days. She deserved to practice.
He arrived at seven. Stood in the doorway. Looked at the table. Looked at me.
“You did all this?”
“I made dinner,” I said. “Sit.”
He sat. I dished out his food and settled beside him. We ate in silence. His fork scraped against the bowl. He made a small sound, almost a hum of approval. The same smell that had never once brought him to the table.
Halfway through the meal, he reached for the wine bottle and poured me a glass. Without being asked.
Something shifted in my chest — not the bond, something quieter and more inconvenient.
“Lucy came to see me today,” I said.
He paused. “I know.”
“She brought Felicia.”
His jaw tightened. “Anna—”
“I’m not complaining.” I set down my spoon. “I’m telling you what happened. So you know what to expect.”
Luca set his glass down. “What did you say?”
“That I wanted closure.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Do you think thirty days will give you that?”
I looked at him — at the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers kept curling around his glass and releasing, the shadows under his eyes. He wasn’t comfortable. Not with this. Not with me.
Good.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m going to find out.”
Dinner ended.
Luca stood, pushing back his chair. He picked up his plate and carried it to the sink —. Then he wiped his hands on a towel and headed for the door.
“Goodnight, Anna.”
I didn’t move from my chair.
“Where are you going?”
He paused, his hand on the doorframe. “To my room. It’s late.”
I shook my head slowly. “No. You’re not.”
He turned. His brow furrowed. “Anna—”
“You promised,” I said, my voice calm. “Thirty days. You be my husband. A real husband.” I stood, smoothing my dress. “Husbands don’t sleep in separate rooms.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—”
“You don’t get to rewrite what this is between us,” he said, his voice lower now. Harder. “A performance. Nothing more.”
“Then perform,” I said. “In my bed.”
His eyes flashed. “I didn’t agree to that.”
“You didn’t refuse when I said it.” I held his gaze. “You want the divorce? You want your freedom? Then you keep your word. Every part of it.”
“Anna, this is—”
“Six years, Luca.” My voice dropped. “Six years I slept alone. Six years I listened to you walk past my door without stopping.”
I stepped closer. Close enough to see the pulse ticking in his throat. Close enough that the bond stirred between us, restless and eager.
“You owe me thirty nights, Luca.”
I paused.
“Not because you love me.”
Another pause.
“But because you never even tried.”
The kitchen was silent.
He stared at me. I could see him searching for an argument, a loophole, a way out. There was none.
“Fine,” he said finally, the word sharp. “But don’t expect—”
“I don’t expect anything.” I turned and walked toward the hallway that led to my room. “Follow me. Or don’t. But if you don’t, the deal is off. And Felicia can wait another six years.”
I didn’t look back.
Behind me, I heard his footsteps.
- Writer
