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He waves his hand dismissively. "That mousy friend of yours, Martha. She looks like trouble. You shouldn't be hanging around people like that."
I bristle at his condescending words. "Oh, so now you're going to dictate who I can and can't be friends with?" I retort. "If you're so worried about protecting me, maybe focus on the murderer running around campus instead."
Lorenzo looks taken aback. "What murderer? Why haven't I heard about this?"
I realize I've said too much and try to backpedal. "Oh, it's not a big deal. Just some creep, I'm sure the police will catch him soon. Nothing to worry about."
Lorenzo frowns. "I should tell your father about this. It's not safe for you to be there with a killer on the loose."
Panic rises within me at the thought of my father finding out. "No, really, there's no need for that," I insist, aware of how frantic my voice sounds. "The guy has a type and I'm clearly not it. I'm totally safe, I promise. The two victims are men."
Lorenzo still looks uncertain but eventually nods. "Alright, I won't tell him for now. But be careful, understood?"
"Of course," I say sweetly, relieved to have dodged that bullet.
Our food arrives, temporarily distracting Lorenzo. But as we eat, he makes several demeaning remarks about me and our upcoming marriage.
"I expect you to be a good wife. Make sure the staff keeps the house clean and organized, good meals on the table. And you’ll be rewarded for bearing my children." He chuckles as if he's said something charming.
I bite my tongue, fuming inside at his degrading words. You don't own me, I want to scream. But I know better than to talk back right now.
This arrogant man sees me as nothing more than a baby-making machine, an additional part of his household staff. I hold my tongue; an outburst will only make things worse.
A waiter approaches our table cautiously as if he senses the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Can I get anything else for you?" he asks.
"I think we're all set here, thank you," I tell the waiter politely.
He gives a short nod. "I'll just leave this with you then." He sets the check down on the table and beats a hasty retreat.
Lorenzo grabs the check and pulls out his ostentatious gold card.
I stay silent, staring down at my hands clenched tightly in my lap. Lorenzo signs the bill with a flourish and stands abruptly.
"Come along, dear; we should get going. That is taken care of. Like everything else I will do to take care of you. You will want for nothing and will never have to work a day once we are married. I'll drop you back at your charming little dorm house." He says "dorm" with a sneer, as if it's distasteful.
Lorenzo ushers me out, his hand pressed against my lower back. My skin crawls at his touch.
The valet pulls up in Lorenzo's shiny sports car, and I silently slide into the passenger seat.
I stare out the window, watching the city fly past in a blur. Lorenzo's arrogance and controlling behavior make my blood boil.
He continues prattling about our upcoming nuptials as he zooms recklessly back towards campus. I tune out his droning voice, watching the streets go by without seeing them.
Finally, we pull up outside my sorority house. Lorenzo puts the car in park but makes no move to get out and open my door as if I'm not worth the courtesy. Dimitri would have. Wait, why am I thinking about him?
Lorenzo's hand suddenly clamps down on mine as I reach for the door handle. I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear.
"I know you don't want your father to find out about what's been happening on campus," he whispers. "And I'm willing to keep quiet... if you are nice."
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "What do you mean?"
Lorenzo's grip tightens on my hand.
"What do you mean?" I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper.
He leans back in his seat, a smug smile on his lips. "I think you know what I mean, Sara." Lorenzo reaches over and grabs my hand, pulling it towards his crotch. I feel the unmistakable bulge of his erection through his pants and recoil in horror.
I shake my head, trying to pull my hand away from his
