Page 122 of Bene

He hid nothing.

Not his intentions.

His disgustingness.

Or anything else.

Courtney gave Vanna a smile—awkward as it was—and picked up one of the garment bags from the bed. “I will let you try on the last one alone, so I can go grab the dress from the back of my car, and we’ll get on with the fitting. Okay?”

Really, she could tell what the woman wanted because it was written clearly all over her face. She needed to get the hell out of that room, and away from Mario. The same exact thing that Vanna wanted, but was unable to achieve, now.

For the rest of my life.

She didn’t fault the woman.

No.

Simply envied her freedom.

“No problem.”

Courtney wasn’t gone from the room for more than a few seconds before Mario took another step toward Vanna. Even if she couldn’t see his goddamn figure in the mirror, she could still feel his presence. Oh, she was still able to sleep in the bed adjacent to his bedroom. He had yet to force her into anything, but it was coming. Every day, his control snapped a little more, and he crossed yet another line.

How would it be on the wedding night?

That terrified her.

Even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Mario came to stand directly behind her, his thumb skimming across the back of her neck as he admired the sight of her in the red lace. “Look at you, huh?”

She shivered.

Not from lust, though.

The disgust was strong.

“Could you not?”

His hand landed to the side of her neck at that response, flexing tightly enough to take Vanna’s breath away, but not quite hard enough to hurt. After all, he left that for places where his marks and bruises wouldn’t be seen by others. They were getting married in a month and had dinner after dinner to attend leading up to it which meant dresses, and blouses that would show off the column of her neck.

Makeup could only do so much.

“That mouth of yours …”

“What about it?”

She was done playing games.

Done playing along.

If he was going to hurt her, force her into this life with him, and do whatever the fuck he wanted with her, then he was going to have to fight for every piece he took from her. She settled herself on that, and it wasn’t changing. She would give him nothing willingly.

Not after everything.

His fingers tightened again, almost hurting, as he leaned in close enough to murmur in her ear, “Don’t worry—your mouth will pay for every comment you make to me. You’ll only act like an ungrateful bitch for so long before you’ll either learn to like the pain, or straighten up. It’s your choice, Vanna, so choose wisely.”

Fuck him.