Julia Michaels - Heaven

Rory stood in front of the full body mirror in the master bedroom. In a skin tight lilac gown falling straight to the floor. Her blonde hair, straighten, was pulled back into a roll with a few loose strands framing her face. Hours ago, she looked so childish: too young to be a wife of a billionaire.

Now, she looked like a woman.

The longer she stared at her reflection the more she felt too over the top. It was just a date at a restaurant in the city. Yet, he insisted this was what she needed to wear. He even brought in stylists for her hair and makeup.

"You look beautiful." He complimented. Tracing her bare arms with his fingers.

"Where are we going?"

She still had no clue why she was so dress up. She loved the dress but it wasn't the type of dress a girl would wear on a date. Even to a simply restaurant date.

"A world class chef is in town and he sent us an invitation." He told her with prideful smile. "They'll be a lot of important families attending and my wife deserved to be looked up on by those people."

Gideon, drinking in her beauty, wanted people to worship her because she deserved no less. She was Rory Torres, the wife of the man ruling South America.

Rory blushed harshly at this statement. Words that caused her pulse to race. What was he doing to her?

He pecked the top of her shoulders and along her the side of her neck. In the mirror, Rory zoned in on the fading scar that was Gideon's name. The dress was hanging from her shoulders by a thin strap. Exposing her most shameful secret.

It was still visible and a reminder of something awful. She could still feel it even now, the feel of the sharp edges of the blade dragging along her skin.

His dark eyes flickered to the mirror, catching her grazing the scar with her fingertips. Those eyes harden and spun her around by the waist. He didn't say anything nor did he showed any regret for what he did to her.

"I got you a present." He whispered. Behind his back and he held a square velvet box. "Open it."

She took the box from his hold and unclasped the front. Her breath was stuck in her throat at the dazzling piece of art shining in her face. A necklace made from brilliant diamonds cut in a pear shape with one big piece dangling at the centre. It glistened in the light ensuring that it was meant to capture attention.

Gideon took the piece from the box and clasped it around her neck where it sat perfectly.

"Look at that." He praised. "It is exactly where it belongs."

Dipping his head, he placed his lips against hers making sure to be careful so that her makeup was not ruined. Drawing back, he softly caressed her rosy cheeks with his thumb; he was so enamoured.

After admiring every nook and cranny of his wife, Gideon led her to the drive way where their car - a black limousine - awaited.

"I'm nervous." She told him, quietly.

For four long years - Rory realised - she had never been around many people. Being locked away from the prying eyes of her stepmother's upperclass circle meant she never mingled a lot with kids her age. She was confined in her room watched by the staff when they attended a gala held by one of her father's friends; without her.

She was too much of a liability; a threat to their status. Which meant she was never taught the etiquettes of the upperclass.

The moment they reached the restaurant - a sleek and modern building with high black brass windows and red carpet entrance - Rory clung onto Gideon's arms. She tried to recall the last time she was in a social situation where people would be looking at her.

Her wedding day but she was too frighten to ever remember the event clearly that day. Therefore, before then, it was over 10 years ago when she was in the school's nativity play.

Feeling the stiffness in her bones, Gideon glanced gently at his little wife and his placed his hands over hers.

This would be their first appearance together, since their wedding day anyways. He no longer wanted to hide her from the world especially if Herrera was parading around a lookalike to taunt him.

"It's alright." He murmured ever so gently. Then his words became fiercer. "There's no need to be scared. You are my wife, a Torres. Our name carries power so, no one will dare to disrespect you."

Rory stared up at him with wide eyes. In the back of her mind she sort of knew the power Gideon held. His private jets coming and going whenever he pleased, the countless mansions and penthouses across the globe and the luxury she was bathed in screamed he has enough money to look after several of his generations.

That was the extend she knew of him. How he became who he was or what he was, was still a massive mystery to her. Gideon had layers upon layers she wanted to pull down but with his murderous demeanour she could only get close enough before he switched on her.

They started into the spacious reception with sleek, dark grey sofas and low wooden tables. The ceilings were high with dangling lights on thick black wires.

Gideon wasn't lying when he said the Torres name held power. Despite his ban on media in their lives, the people - dressed in chic, expensive and trendiest attired - stood the moment they stepped in as if they knew them like they've been plastered on the front cover of all news outlets.

Their stares only made her tighten her hold on his suit covered arm. She gazed up at him under her lashes; dressed in black - like the devil that he was - Gideon was a dazzling sight. So cold, cruel and calculated. Yet, so handsome.

"Señor Torres." A man in a simple grey and maroon suit and tie greeted him. "Thank you for coming. The chef is busy but he asked me to pass on the thanks for the usage of your restaurant."

"It's my pleasure."

"Dinner will be ready in 30 minutes, Señor."

Cautiously, Rory followed Gideon's every move. Whenever he went, to business partners and old family friends, she was right beside him. Tensed and too shy to introduce herself to the other women - girls - watching in the corner.

She felt their curious gaze on her making the hair on her neck stand. Rory told herself, before the attention could her get to her head, that they weren't interested in her. They were probably fascinated by the Torres name. Or, perhaps her husband.

Rory saw it. The way women looked at him, hungry and hot like they wanted to be devoured. They wanted him despite his wife dangling from his arms. Her stomach churned unpleasantly when a beautiful brunette with a athletic figure stroked the same of his arms and pressed her body into him, the movement causing her ample breasts to popped.

Gideon liked breasts, he showed her that this morning. She didn't blame him for not pushing the beauty away. She won't either.

Once dinner was ready, they were taken to their respective tables. They were sat, in circular tables, with people she didn't recognise. They spoke mostly in Spanish and making her feel rather left out. Perhaps, this was her sign that she needed to learn the language, it would make things easier.

People introduced themselves to her and she shyly smiled in returned, still warily of them. On the other hand, thankful that they tried to include her.

Gideon leaned across, whispering; "These are my people, Rory. They respect you as they respect me."

For some reason, those words were comforting and the tension dispersed.

She dug into her food with gusto. It was as delicious as it was visually pleasing however, Gideon's home cooked food was still her favourite meal to have.

They were served bubbly champagne. She downed a glass in the reception and two more during dinner. The effects causing her to feel warm and fuzzy. She giggled and smiled at the jokes made on the table - no doubt this newfound confidence was the result of the alcohol.

A elderly couple was seated beside Rory. The wife - Señora García - was gushing over her; all night. Silver hair cut and style to her shoulders finished with nice black hat. She donned a black lace dress and carried a Saint Laurent purse the same colour.

Everyone on the table wore black making the event appear more like a funeral then a dinner party. Rory surveyed the room, only a couple of people were dressed in colour but the darkest shade they could get their hands on.

She was the only one in a pastel colour.

"You look so lovely." Señora García gushed. "The younger kids these days don't know colours beside black."

"My husband picked out the dress." She said.

"He has good taste." Her husband chipped in.

Rory stole a glance at Gideon. He was deep in conversation with a man beside him. One of his tree trunk arms was thrown around her chair in a possessive manner. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the García with curiosity.

They were one of the oldest attendees here. They must've known Gideon for a long time.

"How do you know my husband?" She quietly asked, hoping Gideon hadn't heard.

They blinked at her as if she had grown three heads, then the Señor answered, "We worked for his family for generations."

"The Torres have been the centre of the Colombian Mafia for several decades." His wife added, "You didn't know?"

"Gideon doesn't tell me a lot of things." She admitted bitterly. It wasn't her fault, he wasn't an open book.

"It's a good thing." She said with a wistful look. "He probably doesn't want to draw to much attention to you. No wonder he has been showing up to these events alone until now of course."

"Did you know his parents?"

The couple seemed to break out in sweats at her question. They looked at each then behind her at Gideon, who wasn't deep in conversation with the man beside him anymore. It seemed, at the mention of his parents, it was his cue to interrupt their conversation.

His angry glare was pointed at the Garcías - a warning or a threat - and they sipped their champagne anxiously Oh god, she thought, what if he killed them?

"Don't be angry at them." She stammered, "I asked the question."

Dark orbs raging with irritation flickered to her. The pounding in her chest grew louder and erratic while her mind conjured the worst possible scenario. What was he going to do to her when they got home?

He won't strike her in public.

"I'm sorry." She quickly apologised. "I didn't mean to pry on your personal life."

Gideon pay her no attention for the rest of the night. And, when the party ended and Rory was escorted out. Clinging onto her husband's arms because she discovered that alcohol was the only way to settle her nerves. But, it also lowered her walls and her inhibition.

The moment Gideon slide into the seat, she crawled onto his lap, letting the skirt of her dress slide up. The smell of alcohol on her was strong, it lingered on her breathe each time she inhaled sharply. He held her to his body and his heart swelled.

"Are you mad?" She asked timidly, her words slurring.

"About what?"

"Everything." She noted, "You always look mad."

"It's my face, Rory." He huffed. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. She was a cute drunk.

"You should smile more often." She rested her head on his shoulders and the rest of her sentences were mumbling. "Did you know," She hiccuped, "that smiling is easier." Hiccuped. "Because you use less muscles."

"I know now." He murmured, stroking the small of her back in soothing circles.

By the time they reached the mansion, Rory had fallen asleep. He shook her awake and she whined in annoyance.

"There's a present for you inside."

"A present?" She piped up, eyes widening. "Is it Christmas already?"

She crawled unsteadily out the limousine and dashed into the mansion. Her hair had become undone and cascaded in waves down her back. Shaking his head in amusement, Gideon followed her inside and heard the squeals of delight. She found her gift.

"You got me a cat." She cried, literally, tears pouring down her face. But, she was still smiling.

No more alcohol for her, he determined.

The blue Scottish Fold with dark eyes was sitting on her mint green bed at the foot of the sofa.

"When did you get her?" She questioned, stroking the cat's fur who in turn mewled pleasantly.

"She arrived when we went to dinner." He explained, "She is an adoptee, healthy and likes to stay indoors."

"She's perfect." Rory murmured, tickling under the cat's jaw. "What's her name?"

"Azul."

"Because she's blue?" She giggled.

By the time Gideon managed to convince Rory to sleep - in their own bed, not the cat's - and freshen up, it was nearing 1am. She curled herself and peered up at him with those emerald eyes, blinking and trying to hold onto her conscious.

Confused, he circled his palm on the small of her back in an attempt to get her to sleep. Why was she fighting it? He wondered, maybe it was another nightmare.

"Thank you." She said, catching him by surprise. "For the other day and getting me Azul. I realised I never thanked you."

He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. Anything for her, he'd do anything for her. He dragged his mouth down her delicate features, feeling all the curves and bumps with his flesh. He lingered at the lips and brushed them gently before moving down to throat, along her collarbone and to her shoulders.

"I'm drunk." She slurred. "Don't take advantage of me."

"I would never." He teased, clamping his teeth down on the side of her throat. "Since I got you a pussy," he started with a mischievous grin. "Will you let me eat yours tomorrow?"

Her eyes flashed and her cheeks redden from embarrassment. He was so confidence and so forward, she was at a lost for words.

Sighing, she nodded slowly and surely. It was the alcohol; it lowered her self control. Or, did she really want him to eat her out?