I shouldn’t care—my long-gone mothe

I shouldn’t care—my long-gone mother would tell me that it’s because I have a higher purpose.
But I do care. Was that the reason for my acting out and heading to Restraint? That I’m desperate for human contact, for someone to make a connection with?
This makes my fingers itch for the wine glass.
“You can tell me after you’ve removed these chains.” I clear my throat, making sure that none of my emotions show. There’s no logical reason to hide them, I suppose, except that revealing them would make me feel vulnerable, which is not an ideal evolutionary trait.
At this, Alexi’s lips twitch with the first hint of amusement that I’ve seen since he returned.
“I don’t find anything about the current predicament entertaining.” I furrow my brow as I snap at him, and he nods, his expression serious again.
“No, it isn’t.” He reaches out, tracing a finger over the cuff that circles my right wrist. When his touch grazes my skin, I jolt at the resultant heat.
I’ve never believed in that thing that I’ve heard referred to so often before—in chemistry. In something indefinable that draws two people together. But even though I’m sure it could be explained given some time and research—likely a matter of pheromones of some sort—I can’t deny that Alexi makes me feel things I’ve never before experienced.
“Well, what, then?” I jerk away from his touch, embarrassed by my reaction. I shouldn’t be having any kind of warm fuzzy feelings toward him—the man chained me up in his house!
Eyeing the blood on his pants, though, I have to admit that he’s done good, noble things for me too. It’s for me to decide which side of his character I want to place my belief in.
Alexi picks up my glass and presses it to my lips. “At least try it. It’s a seventy-five year-old Chardonnay. Be a shame to waste it.”
I part my lips to exclaim at this because I can only imagine how much a bottle of that age must cost. It seems ridiculous and impractical to spend that much money on something that will be consumed. But then the liquid touches my tongue, and I can’t help but murmur with delight.
“Oh!” The wine tastes like—it tastes like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Sweet, but not like the sweetness of sugar. More reminiscent of grapes and honey, maybe even a hint of cinnamon. The tiny sip slides smoothly down my throat, warming a path all the way to my stomach.
And then I remember that I declared that alcohol impaired judgment and that now wasn’t time to be indulging. I flush guiltily, and Alexi catches me under the chin with his index finger, raising my face so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Never be ashamed of pursuing something that brings you happiness.” His eyes are shadowed, but his entire being seems focused on one thing—me. “Life is far too short, too fragile to live life any way but how you want.
His words burn with intensity, and I wonder what drives them. I want to retort that I do, in fact, live my life the way that I want to—but do I?
I think of the years of schooling, of healthy eating, of rigorous exercise. The time spent pushing away urges to indulge in things like music and movies, because they didn’t enrich my mind.
Until yesterday, I had never questioned any of this, because it had never occurred to me to. I am who I am, after all.
Except I’m starting to think that conservative brainiac Mari is maybe not who I really am. Or at least not all of it.
Alexi’s fingers trace the curve of my jaw, drawing my attention away from my musings. I suck in a sharp breath at the sensations that the simple touch sends rippling through my skin.
“Mari,” he whispers, his dark eyes searching my own gray ones.
And then I remember that he said he has something important to tell me. And I’m still chained up like some kind of... of harem girl.
I jerk away from his touch, and my body shrieks in protest. “You were saying?”
“Right.” Alexi’s breath fans out over my face, warm and scented with wine. He runs a hand through hair that looks like he’s already repeated that movement a time or fifteen.
“I went to Leandro’s apartment. Through discussion, it became apparent that the family wasn’t going to be content with letting you, a witness to one of their crimes, wander around free.” He looks at me sidelong; I can’t control my wince.
“Continue.”
“There was only one thing left that could possibly keep you safe.” Alexi sits up taller now, and as I look at him, I can all but see him assume the mantle of the rich billionaire. The tenderness disappears, replaced by the ruthless businessman who refuses to take no for an answer.
“You had to become my wife.”
I stare back at him. I see his lips moving, but I don’t hear anything except a loud ringing—it takes me a long time to understand that the sound is only in my own ears.
“We can’t get married.” I think that I’m probably shouting, just so that I can be heard over the roar, but I’m not sure. “We don’t know each other.”
Even as I speak, I find two problems with my own argument.