Twist Me: The Complete Trilogy

Chapter 6

6Nora

The ceremony itself takes only about twenty minutes. Cognizant of the camera trained on us, I smile widely and do my best to look like a happy, glowing bride.

I still don’t fully understand my own reluctance. After all, I’m marrying the man I love. When I thought he was dead, I wanted to die myself, and it took all of my strength to survive from one day to the next. I don’t want to be with anyone but Julian… and yet I can’t shake the chill deep inside.

He handled my parents smoothly, I will give him that. I’m not sure what I had been expecting, but the calm, almost civil conversation that took place hadn’t been it. He had been in control the entire time, his matter-of-fact attitude leaving no room for tearful accusations and recriminations. He had apologized for the rushed wedding, but not for abducting me in the first place—and I know it’s because he feels no guilt about that. In his mind, he has a right to me. It’s as simple as that.

After a lengthy speech in Spanish, Padre Diaz begins speaking to Julian. I catch a few words—something about spouse, love, protection—and then I hear Julian’s deep voice responding “Sí, quiero.”

It’s my turn next. Looking up at Julian, I meet his gaze. There is a warm smile on his lips, but his eyes tell a different story. His eyes reflect hunger and need, and underneath it all, a dark, all-consuming possessiveness.

“Sí, quiero,” I say quietly, repeating Julian’s words. Yes, I do. Yes, I want. My rudimentary Spanish is good enough to translate that at least.

Julian’s smile deepens. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out another ring—a slim, diamond-studded band that matches my engagement ring—and slides it onto my nerveless finger. Then he presses a platinum band into my palm and extends his left hand to me.

His palm is almost twice the size of mine, his fingers long and masculine. He has a man’s hands—strong and roughened with calluses. Hands that can pleasure or hurt with equal ease.

Taking a deep breath, I slide the wedding band onto Julian’s left ring finger and look up at him again, only half-listening as Padre Diaz concludes the ceremony. Staring at Julian’s beautiful features, all I can think about is that it’s done.

The man who kidnapped me is now my husband.

After the ceremony, I say goodbye to my parents, assuring them that I will speak to them again soon. My mom is crying, and my dad is wearing a stony expression that usually means he’s extremely upset.

“Mom, Dad, I promise I’ll be in contact,” I tell them, trying to hold back my own tears. “I won’t disappear on you again. Everything is going to be fine. You have nothing to worry about…”

“I promise she will call you very soon,” Julian adds, and after a few more tearful goodbyes, Lucas disconnects the video feed.

The next half hour is spent taking pictures all over the beautiful church. Then we change back into our regular clothes and head back to the airport.

At this point, it’s evening and I’m completely exhausted. The stress of the past couple of hours, combined with all the travel, has made me nearly comatose, and I close my eyes, leaning back against the black leather seat as the car winds its way through the dark streets of Bogotá. I don’t want to think about anything; I just want to empty my mind and relax. Shifting, I try to find a better position, one that doesn’t place too much weight on my still-tender bottom.

“Tired, baby?” Julian murmurs, placing his hand on my leg. His fingers squeeze lightly, massaging my thigh, and I force my heavy eyelids to open.

“A bit,” I admit, turning toward him. “I’m not used to this much flying—or marrying.”

He grins at me, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “Well, luckily you won’t have to go through this experience again. The marrying, I mean. I can’t promise anything about the flying.”

Maybe I’m overly tired, but that strikes me as ridiculously funny for some reason. A giggle escapes my throat, first one, then another, until I’m laughing uncontrollably, all but rolling on the backseat of the car.

Julian watches me calmly, and when my laughter finally begins to quiet down, he pulls me into his lap and kisses me, claiming my mouth with a long, fierce kiss that literally steals my breath away. By the time he lets me come up for air, I can barely remember my own name, much less what I was laughing about before.

We’re both panting, our breath intermingling as we stare at each other. There’s hunger in his gaze, but there’s also something more—an almost violent longing that goes deeper than simple lust. A strange tightness squeezes my chest, and I feel like I’m falling further, losing even more of myself. “What do you want from me, Julian?” I whisper, lifting my hand to cradle the hard contours of his jaw. “What do you need?”

He doesn’t answer, but his large hand covers mine, holding it pressed against his face for a few moments. He closes his eyes, as though absorbing the sensation, and when he opens them, the moment is gone.

Shifting me off his lap, he drapes a heavy arm over my shoulders and settles me comfortably against his side. “Get some rest, my pet,” he murmurs into my hair. “We still have a ways to go before we get home.”

I fall asleep on the plane again, so I have no idea how long the flight is. Julian shakes me awake after we land, and I follow him sleepily off the plane.

Warm, humid air hits me as soon as we disembark, so thick it feels like a damp blanket. Bogotá had been much warmer than Chicago, with the temperature somewhere in the high sixties, but this… this feels like I stepped into a wet sauna. With my winter boots and a fleece sweater, I feel like I’m being cooked alive.

“Bogotá is at a much higher elevation,” Julian says, as though reading my mind. “Down here, it’s tierra caliente—the low-elevation hot zone.”

“Where are we?” I ask, waking up a bit more. I can hear the chirping of insects, and the smell in the air is that of lush green vegetation, of the tropics. “Which part of the country, I mean?”

“The southeast,” Julian replies, leading me toward an SUV waiting on the other side of the runway. “We’re actually right on the edge of the sss rainforest.”

I lift my hand to rub at the corner of my eye. I don’t know much about Colombian geography, but that sounds very remote to me. “Are we near some villages or towns?”

“No,” Julian says. “That’s the beauty of this location, my pet. We’re completely isolated and safe. Nobody will bother us here.”

We reach the car, and he helps me inside. Lucas joins us a couple of minutes later, and then we’re off, driving down an unpaved road through a heavily wooded area.

It’s pitch-black outside, the headlights of the car our only source of illumination, and I peer curiously through the darkness, trying to discern our destination. All I can see, however, are trees and more trees.

Abandoning that futile effort, I decide to get more comfortable instead. It’s cooler in the car with the air conditioning working full-blast, but I’m still too hot, so I take off my sweater. Thankfully, I’m wearing a tank top underneath. As the chilly air blows across my heated skin, I sigh with relief, fanning myself to accelerate the cooling process.

“I have clothes for you here that are more weather-appropriate,” Julian says, observing my actions with a half-smile. “I probably should’ve thought to bring them with me, but I was far too eager to retrieve you.”

“Oh?” I glance at him, absurdly pleased by his admission.

“I came after you as soon as I could,” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming in the dark interior of the car. “You didn’t think I’d leave you alone for long, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” I say softly. And it’s the truth. If there’s one thing I’ve always been sure of, it’s that Julian wants me. I’m not sure if he loves me—if he’s capable of loving anyone—but I’ve never doubted the strength of his desire for me. He risked his life for me back at that warehouse, and I know he would do so again. It’s a certainty that goes bone-deep and fills me with a peculiar sense of comfort.

Closing my eyes, I lean back against the seat with another sigh. The dichotomy of my emotions makes my head hurt. How can I be upset with Julian for forcing me to marry him and at the same time be glad that he couldn’t wait to abduct me again? What sane person feels that way?

“We’ve arrived,” Julian says, interrupting my musings, and I open my eyes, realizing that the car had stopped.

In front of us is a sprawling two-story mansion surrounded by several smaller structures. Bright outdoor lights illuminate everything in the vicinity, and I can see wide green lawns and lush, meticulously maintained landscaping. Julian wasn’t exaggerating when he called this place an estate.

I can also see some of the security measures, and I gaze around curiously as Julian helps me out of the car and leads me toward the main building. On the far edges of the property, there are towers spaced a few dozen yards apart, with armed men visible at the top of each one.

It’s almost as if we’re in prison, except that these guards are meant to keep the bad people out, not in.

“You grew up here?” I ask Julian as we approach the house. It’s a beautiful white building with stately columns at the front. It reminds me a bit of Scarlett O’Hara’s plantation from Gone with the Wind.

“I did.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “I spent most of my time here until I was about seven or eight. After that, I was usually in the cities with my father, helping him with business.”

After we walk up the porch steps, Julian stops at the doorway and bends down to lift me into his arms. Before I can say anything, he carries me over the threshold, setting me back on my feet once we’re inside. “No reason why we can’t observe this little tradition,” he murmurs with a mischievous grin, maintaining his hold on my sides as he looks down at me.

My lips twitch in an answering smile. I can never resist Julian when he’s being playful like this. “Ah, yes, I forgot that you’re Mr. Traditional today,” I tease, purposefully trying not to think about the forced nature of our marriage. It’s important for my sanity to keep the good times separate from the bad, to live in the moment as much as possible. “And here I thought you just felt like picking me up.”

“I did,” he admits, his grin widening. “It’s the first time my inclinations and tradition have coincided, though, so why don’t we go with ‘observing tradition’?”

“I’m game,” I say softly, gazing up at him. In this moment, my mind is firmly in the ‘good times’ camp, and I would gladly go along with anything he wants, do anything he wants.

“Señor Esguerra?” An uncertain female voice interrupts us, and I turn to see a middle-aged woman standing there. She’s wearing a black short-sleeved dress, with a white apron wrapped around her rounded frame. “Everything is ready, just as you requested,” she says in accented English, watching us with barely restrained curiosity. “Should I serve you dinner?”

“No, thank you, Ana,” Julian replies, his hand resting possessively on my hip. “Just bring a tray with some sandwiches to our room, please. Nora is tired from our travels.” Then he looks down at me. “Nora, this is Ana, our housekeeper. Ana, this is Nora, my wife.”

Ana’s brown eyes widen. Apparently the ‘wife’ bit is as much of a shock to her as it had been to me. She recovers quickly, though. “Very pleased to meet you, Señora,” she says, giving me a wide smile. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, Ana. It’s nice to meet you too.” I smile back, ignoring the sharp pain squeezing my chest. This housekeeper is nothing like Beth, but I can’t help thinking of the woman who had become my friend—and of her cruel, pointless death.

No, don’t go there, Nora. The last thing I need is to wake up screaming from another nightmare.

“Please make sure we’re not disturbed tonight,” Julian instructs Ana, “unless it’s something urgent.”

“Yes, Señor,” she murmurs, and disappears through the wide double doors leading out of the entryway area.

“Ana is one of the staff here,” Julian explains as he guides me toward a wide, curved staircase. “She’s been with my family in one capacity or another for most of her life.”

“She seems very nice,” I say, studying my new home as we walk up the stairs. I’ve never been inside such a lavish residence, and I can hardly believe I’m going to be living here. The decor is a tasteful mix of old-fashioned charm and modern elegance, with gleaming wooden floors and abstract art on the walls. I suspect the gilded picture frames alone are more expensive than anything I had in my studio apartment back home. “How many people are on the staff?”

“There are two who always take care of the house,” Julian answers. “Ana, whom you’ve just met, and Rosa, who’s the maid. You’ll probably meet her tomorrow. There are also several gardeners, handymen, and others who oversee the property as a whole.” Pausing in front of one of the doors upstairs, he opens it for me. “Here we are. Our bedroom.”

Our bedroom. That has a very domestic ring to it. On the island, I had my own room, and even though Julian slept with me most nights, it still felt like my private space—something I apparently wouldn’t have here.

Stepping inside, I cautiously survey the bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, it has an opulent, old-fashioned feel to it, despite several modern touches. There is a thick blue rug on the floor, and a massive four-poster bed in the center. Everything is done in shades of blue and cream, with some gold and bronze mixed in. The drapes covering the windows are thick and heavy, like in a luxury hotel, and there are a few more abstract paintings on the walls.

It’s beautiful and intimidating, like the man who is now my husband.

“Why don’t we take a bath?” Julian says softly, stepping up behind me. His powerful arms fold around me, his fingers reaching for my belt buckle. “I think we could both use one.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” I murmur, letting him undress me. It makes me feel like a doll—or maybe a princess, given our surroundings. As Julian tugs off my shirt and pushes down my jeans, his hands brush against my bare skin, causing tingles of heat to ripple down to my core.

Our wedding night. Tonight is our wedding night. My breathing quickens from a combination of arousal and nerves. I don’t know what Julian has in store for me, but the hard ridge pressing against my lower back leaves no doubt that he intends to f**k me again.

When I am completely naked, I turn to face him and watch as he takes off his own clothes, his well-defined muscles gleaming in the soft light coming from the recessed ceiling. His body is slightly leaner than before, and there is a new scar near his ribcage. Still, he’s the most striking man I have ever seen. He’s already fully erect, his thick, long c**k jutting out at me, and I swallow, my s*x clenching at the sight. At the same time, I am cognizant of a faint soreness deep inside and the continued tenderness of my bruised bottom.

I want him, but I don’t know if I can handle any more pain today.

“Julian…” I hesitate, unsure how to best phrase it. “Is there any way… Can we—?”

He steps toward me, framing my face with his large hands. His eyes glitter brightly as he looks down at me. “Yes,” he whispers, understanding my unspoken question. “Yes, baby, we can. I will give you the wedding night of your dreams.”