His deadpan stare shifted into a smirk, not in the least bit worried. “Matthew and your bridesmaids departed Sicily an hour ago.”
“No.” The way this man deceived me with a straight face left me baffled. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t leave. We’re getting married tomorrow.”
He tilted his head. Those sculpted lips twitched into a cruel smile. “He believes you married another last night. And, yes, Gemma, he left.”
My brows squished together. His ridiculous lies amplified the earlier pounding in my head. “Why would he believe such a thing?”
“The email you sent, of course. A rather convincing one, I must say.” He sounded so candid, so matter-of-fact, when he lied through his teeth.
I snorted a mock laugh. “Matthew’s not stupid to fall for a random email, even if sent by me. He’d never believe I’m capable of something so horrible.”
“If he did have any lingering doubts…” He paused for effect, licking his bottom lip as if tasting the icing on the cake. “Your father confirmed it via video call.”
He coerced my father to lie to Matthew? I bet he pressured Papa to say whatever he wanted.
His gaze flicked over my neck and décolletage, lingering for a calculated moment. “And let’s not forget how he reacted to the proof.”
The space between my brows tensed. “Proof?”
He freed one of my wrists and retrieved his phone to reveal the screen.
Bile rose.
I gaped at Enzo, then back at the image of me tucked into his side. A bedsheet concealed my breasts. My hand nestled in the dark hairs on his naked pectoral, and a gold band encircled my finger. In the photo, he kissed my disheveled hair, a glint in his gaze as he snapped the selfie. He must have staged this last night, while I was out cold, maybe even photoshopping the soft smile on my face for good measure, too. The picture spoke a thousand words; a newlywed couple, content from a long,passionate night. Lava bubbled in my veins. I seethed with an urgency to scratch his eyes out. Did he… “You sick monster!”
He tucked the phone into his pocket and recaptured my wrist again. “I did no more than unclip your straps to imply you look naked.”
As if that made it any better! My breath hitched in my throat, a ragged sob building behind my sternum. I tasted bile, sharp and acidic, as the image of his hands on my bare skin burned behind my eyelids. The pig! My fingers curled into fists within his grasp.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” he shouted without the slightest shift in his posture.
A maid walked in, carrying a large gown bag. I opened my mouth, but my plea deflated on my lips. She kept her head bowed, refusing to meet my gaze. Still, I had to try. “I’m a prisoner here.Please, call the police!” As predicted, the woman glanced everywhere except my way.
Enzo shot me anice-trygrin, not at all amused.
The maid laid the bag on the sofa, its front stamped with a familiar logo. My bridal gown. Two men followed, Scar and Tapper, carting a brass easel and poster.
Welcome to the wedding of Gemma and Matthew. We are so glad you’re here—the same poster I ordered for the reception venue.
The men situated the board by the balcony doors. “These are the last of her items.”
Psychopath signaled for them to exit with a flick of his head.
They discerned the hint. Scar smirked at Enzo’s grip on my wrists. What a sight we made… me kneeling on the bed within this man’s clutches. I swallowed. “Why are my belongings here?”
He tipped his chin, his gaze drifting down to meet mine, each syllable coated in honeyed condescension. “Isn’t it obvious? Tomorrow’s the big day.”
Insane? Or just… delusional? My fingers trembled, barely registering the coolness of the air against my clammy skin. “As if Matthew will meet me at the altar after the selfie you showed him.” My voice cracked on the last word, betraying more than I wanted to reveal.
He tilted his head, one corner of his mouth tugging upward, and his eyes gleamed with undisguised pleasure, as if savoring a private joke. “I promise you, there will be a groom waiting for you at the altar.”
What did he mean?
He glimpsed the poster. “Perhaps… a closer look.” Sauntering to the dresser table, he grabbed a marker from the top drawer and ambled toward the poster.
My gaze remained fixed on his wide shoulders, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. The squeak of the marker confirmed he defaced the poster I’d purchased. He backed away and allowed me to view his handiwork.
