Nothing and no one can stop today from coming.
My fate is sealed. The finality of that crushes me. It’s an endless, pulverizing thing that doesn’t let up, even when I’m asleep.
After thathorridintroductory meeting with Maksim and his family, Leo decided to keep me locked away in my room. Probably to minimize the risk of me saying or doing anything that might jeopardize the business deal he’s cooked up with the Petrovs. And he definitely didn’t want to give me another opportunity to escape.
The only upside about this captivity is that it’s kept me away from my husband-to-be. I suspect that may be the real reason Leo decided to lock me up. To keep my intended from succumbing to the temptation of “tasting the fruit” of my “untouched” body before Leo secured his money, weapons, and whatever else the Petrovs have put up in exchange for this wedding.
I’m sure the last thing on Leo’s mind is protecting me from that brute.
And as awful as it is to be marrying that vile stranger under these laughably false pretenses, the marriage isn’t the reason myheart’s in pieces or why my body aches like the creaking wood of an old ship.
All I can think about is Rory.
Is he dead? Did he suffer?
Was the pain worse than what I’ve been stewing in since Leo brought me back to the De Luca estate?
The questions keep me up at night. I barely sleep or eat. I imagine seeing his smile again before remembering that will never happen, and I fall deeper into a hopeless sea of darkness.
For comfort, I have the old books in my room and enough things to paint with. But I’m listless. I have no interest in anything. No inspiration outside of the black despair that hangs over me like a cloud.
Every time I think I have it in me to create something,anything, I just sit frozen on my stool. In the end, I always set my brush down and walk away.
Nestling deeper under the covers, as though the blankets might shield me from my future, I wonder if I’ll ever want to doanythingever again.
Right now, I’m a shell.
After what feels like another hour of agony, I drift off into a peaceless slumber and don’t wake again until Theresa’s small, warm hands gently shake my arm.
Blinding shafts of sunlight slant into my bedroom. With a start, I realize that today may be the last day I ever see this place. From tonight onward, my room will be wherever Maksim Petrov lays his oversized head.
“Breakfast,piccolina.”
Theresa’s sweet. She reminds me of Mae, except she seems oblivious to the fact that I’m a prisoner here.
I manage to struggle through a few bites of breakfast before Leo throws open my door, sporting the smug grin of a man who just won the lottery.
I’m so lost in my own grief, my body doesn’t even flinch at the sudden intrusion.
Leo saunters in and leers. “Excited for your big day?”
“Excited to get rid of me?” My reply is a mumble, but Leo catches every word.
“You have no idea.” His wicked smile breaks into a chuckle. Then, all the levity on his face melts off, and he stalks over to me and grabs a fistful of my knotted hair. “If you doanythingto fuck this up, bug, I’m going to destroy that pretty face of yours. I’ll cut you up so badly, your own dead mother wouldn’t even recognize you.”
“Understood.” I spit the word at him. It must be too defiant for his taste because he yanks my hair hard before releasing me.
Leo turns to Theresa. “Have her ready to go within the hour. We’ve kept our in-laws waiting long enough.”
He slams my bedroom door shut behind him, and for a moment I can breathe.
But not for long.
The rest of the morning swirls by like water down a toilet bowl.
Soon, led by Theresa and flanked by Leo’s meanest minions, I zombie-shuffle out of the house. They escort us into a limousine that drives us to an alley somewhere in Manhattan. I’m taken through a back door into the cavernous underbelly of an enormous venue unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Marble floors overrun with a blood red carpet. Candelabras taller than I am lining both sides of a walkway, thickets of roses snuggled into the center of their many arms. Candle wax and fresh rain scent the air. The crystal chandeliers that hang above us make the one in the De Lucas’ dining room look like a kid’s night-light.
