Page 11 of Braax's Bride
“I have something else for you.”
Of course, her mind turned right back to that big dick of his, but instead he led her to another room in the house, opening the door to a beautiful, sunlit studio.
A large window overlooking the quiet forest drenched the small space in sunlight. The scent was fresh, floral, the window cracked slightly to let the warm air in.
“I have procured some items for you. Paints, canvases, brushes, an easel… I know you are a painter, from the profile the agency sent. But if there is anything else you need, I can get it. Whatever will make you happy while I am gone.”
Well, Sofia really hadn’t thought about that. Somehow, she’d had no expectations of what her life would look like on Olara 8.
If she were being honest, she’d been in a bit of a daze for a while, numbness replacing the devastation that infertility and the divorce had wreaked on her life. As if a glowing cloud were in her chest, protecting her from the uncontrollable emotions that would surely crush her.
“Thank you, Braax. I appreciate it.”
The studio was beautiful, tubes of paint laid out on a long table, a blank canvas already settled on the chrome easel. A palette and a vast array of brushes, plus a mountain of glass jars, took up the rest of the space.
It had been some time since she last painted, the divorce and mating agency taking up most of her energy the past few months. She had stocked her console full of holovideos and novels, a lifetime’s worth of material to get through. But maybe some painting would be nice, as well.
“I will be back later. I am sorry I must leave you, but please, make yourself comfortable.”
Braax pulled her flush to his chest and Sofia breathed in his scent, a strange prickle of emotion choking her up.
With a nuzzle of her cheek, he released her.
“I will see you soon.”
Her new husband was gone, and here she was, in his—their—house, unsure what to do.
Chapter 4
THE NEXT FEW DAYS passed by pleasantly, for the most part.
In the mornings, Sofia tried to paint, though inspiration did not come easily. Violent streaks of red and black marred her canvases, swirls of darkness representing the emotions she refused to allow herself to feel. A void where her heart should be, sucking in all the anger and desolation that had become so quintessential to her life.
She tried to focus on the beautiful views that greeted her through the studio windows, tried dotting her palette with forest green, deep brown, and bright blue to match the sky, but somehow her brush was drawn towards scarlet red and raven black.
Red, the color of blood, which reminded her of all her failed cycles. Anguished memories, treatment hormones exacerbating her endo until all she could do was curl into a ball of pain.
The color of failure.
And the dark void which followed her like a storm cloud, mirroring the glowing protector that beat in her chest.
Still, painting was painting, and she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a sense of catharsis as she stabbed at the canvas with her brush. A shedding of some of the pain and suffering she’d held onto so tightly, transferring from her body to the image.
In the afternoons, she settled on the couch with her nose in a holonovel, forcing herself to relax after struggling in her studio. The routine helped keep her mind off other things, off the feelings threatening to overwhelm her when she thought of her new husband.
Her cramps were acting up today after clearly overestimating herself the past week. Multiple orgasms every morning and night were taking a toll on her pelvic floor, not to mention the sizable stretch she got every time Braax fucked her.
Though she’d just started a new novel, that didn’t stop her from falling asleep on the couch, awaking to a gentle nuzzle at the nape of her neck and a whisper in her ear.
“Hello, my beautiful human.”
Sofia fluttered her eyes open, unable to stop the grin from spreading on her face as her new husband loomed over her.
“How was work?” she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up with a yawn.
“It was fine, but I missed you.”
The answer warmed her heart, the same as it always did, though she wished it didn’t. This was a marriage of convenience, an alien who couldn’t be bothered to make an effort dating, so he had to sign up for a mail-order bride. He was kind enough, friendly enough, fucked well enough, and that was fine.