Dark Romance

Lagertha Ivanovich.8

"Okay! Okay! I'll remove it on my own."
I said in defence after he already finished his countdown.
But he still came towards my direction.
"Too late."
What?
I tried to run away from him by mounting on the bed to the other side of it. But he was too fast.
"Don't tempt me, chula. Come back here." I stayed still as we looked at each other from different sides of the bed.

"You know am gonna catch you, right! And you can't imagine what I'll do to you after."

I stayed still. I felt naughty at the moment.
"Its fine. You wanna run, then run!"
He chased me from the other side of the bed, realising the door was my only escape route.
As soon as I landed my hands on the door lobe, he got a grip of my waist, pulling my back towards him.

"You are done, chula." He growled the words against my ear.
"I'll remove the clothes myself. Okay!"
I couldn't read his expression for my eyes were on the door and his face behind me.

He let out a small chuckle. The briefest I have ever heard from him since I met him.
It was like breathing out air but it was actually a chuckle.

What did I say? What was he amused about?

"Ow, Miss Lagertha. Can I ask a question before I reap your clothes off for disobedience?"
He asked.
"You can ask before letting me remove my clothes."

"I'll ask anyway. Why did you marry Vladimir if you didn't love him. Or did the love fade away?"
He asked a question that I had no idea would come up.

"Who said I still don't love him?"
I tried to make him furious.
"Quit the game and answer the fucking question before I bend you over, chula."
He warned me.

"I was ten years old. I was walking by the streets at night looking for food. At the middle of the night it was. Despite my mother being an addict and my father working for gangs and never seeing him most of the times didn't stop me from stealing food when I was hungry or stealing clothes from the line of our neighbours.
At that night I don't get food for two days.
I was ten. Ten. With no one to look after me. Then that night a black mini van came at the side of the road and masked men captured me.
I didn't see a thing. My eyes were closed. My stomach grumbled because of hunger."

I got a grip of his hand on my waist as I took it off. I headed towards the bottom side of the bed and sat.

"I was taken into the system they said. I remember the minute I turned fifteen, I was sold to men thrice my size to use me for sexual purposes. It wasn't like I wasn't raped before that by the soldiers. No! Then one day the gang leader entered a beef with a certain man with twice his empire. For him to let it go, he asked for a hand in marriage with his youngest daughter. For it was said he had eight daughters. And the last one of them was known for her beauty. And braveness. But my owner couldn't give out his daughter for she was his eye and apple. So one of his men gave a suggestion to the boss. He said that he knew a girl way more beautiful than his last daughter way more brave and tougher than his daughter. The boss had never been furious after he heard someone say such things of his daughter. But what could he do. He was in need. So he sent for the girl. When she arrived, the boss could not remove his eyes from her. For truly she was beautiful and could be the best suitor.
Her name was Lagertha Zolotov.
They used me as his last daughter and sold me to that monstrous man. A man with no honour and dignity. A man with no passion and balls. He disgusts me from top to bottom." I let all those words out with hatred in my heart. I had never told anyone of my past. He was the first and probably the last.

He looked at me with eyes that I had no clue of.
Was it sympathy? No way.
Was it hatred? No way.
Was it....
"Didn't he ever realize that you are not ... you know, the daughter?"
"Never!"
"Then why didn't you ever tell him?"
"Then what? How would it help me. I will always live a life if sympathy. It wasn't in my interests."
I said.

I took a step off the bed and told him to look away as I removed my clothes.
I slept in the same description as the first time. My hands gripping my hair as my head tilted upwards.
A grey silk cloth covering my breasts. As one of my legs was bent. And a maroon silk cloth covering my private part.
I bit my lips, eyes shut and let him take his time.
"Don't you think you have to be a French?"
I asked stupidly.
"What?" He asked confused.
"You know, don't you think you have to be a French and not an Italian?" I asked my question again with more details.
"Why?"
"Because, you know, your name is French. Francesco."
I asked.
"Why in hell would you think of my name, chula?"
He seemed amused and confused at the same time.
"I knew you weren't gonna answer. Just let it go."

"Chula, I don't even know the answer to that. Now close your eyes and bite your lips."

"And what about your tattoos?" I asked again.
He tilted his head then breathing out loudly.
"Because tattoos are for immoral men."
I added to my line of speech.
"Immoral?" He emphasised on the word so much.
"Mm."
"What? So you implying that am immoral?"
He asked again.
"Not that I said your immoral. Just implied that tattoos are for immoral men and backwards."
"What backwards?"
"Immoral men are as objected to tattoos."
He raised an eyebrow questioning my sanity.
"Do you even know what your saying?"

"To a scale of one to ten, I'd say two." I said.

"And finding you mental can give me a scale of one to one, I'd say zero."

"Okay! Then can I ask a question. I promise it won't be stupid."
He looked at me curiously trying to read my mind.
"Ask!"

I took a long breath and built my confidence up.
"What is taking you so long to marry? I mean you are the game changer in your family. You don't follow the rules. You make them."
He dropped the paint from his hand tilting his head up towards the roof I couldn't see his expression.
Then something came to my mind and I couldn't help saying it.
"Or are you gay?" I whispered.