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His voice was cultured. Smooth. And it held just enough barely contained fury in each coldly stated word for her to recognize immediately who was in bed with her.
And there he was. With a satisfied grin curving his lips, his blonde hair slicked back like always, an expensively tailored suit cut to his long, lean body. He was stretched out alongside her, his hand a possessive brand on her hip.
“Tommy.”
Grace breathed out his name. In the next instant, her stomach clenched and she jerked away from him. She heaved, a dry heave that had her whole body tightening. When he reached out, rubbing her soothingly on her back, she had to fight back another heave.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. But let’s try not to be sick on your gown. We don’t have time to get it cleaned.”
She’d puke all over Rick’s bed if it meant ruining the dress that he changed her into. When she let out another heave, nothing could have stopped her. A combination of fear and revulsion made her want to hurl. But her sense of preservation kicked in at the last minute. Tommy didn’t want her to get sick on the goddamn gown. How mad would he be if she did?
Couldn’t risk it. There were already so many different reasons why he’d be pissed off at her. He was there. He’d finally found her. As satisfying as it would be, Grace knew she couldn’t risk it.
“What… what are you talking about?” What are you doing here? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Even as out of it as she was, she knew better than to ask him that. Instead, she whispered, “What’s going on? I… I don’t feel so good.”
“I know. The dizziness will pass in a few minutes. My team wasn’t sure how big of a dose to give you since you’re such a dainty thing. It worked quickly, and I’ve been assured you’ll feel as good as new in no time. You’ll be fine for later.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. The fuzzy feeling made it nearly impossible to truly understand that he was there, with her, in Rick’s bed. Grace wanted to pinch herself because it had to be a nightmare.
Please let it be a nightmare.
It wasn’t. Tommy was there. Whatever he’d done—however he’d done it—Grace was utterly incapable of using any of the self-defense Rick taught her. As Tommy reached out again, rubbing his hand up and down her arm, ignoring the way she shuddered and moaned, Grace flashed back to her first lesson.
Prevention. That’s what Rick taught her. The best self-defense was in making sure you prevented it. Don’t make yourself a target. Always be aware of your surroundings. Avoid dangerous place, dangerous people—
She was home.
She was supposed to be safe at home.
She should’ve known better.
Hot tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. Grace was grateful that she had her back to Tommy. He’d only pretend he couldn’t understand how he made her cry, and then he’d lose his temper and snap at her to stop.
Tommy Mathers would never change. She was the one who fooled herself into thinking that he might have, all because he missed the date he put on that damn wedding invitation.
Grace’s blood ran cold. She took in a sharp breath and almost forgot to exhale. She almost forgot to breathe as it hit her.
The wedding.
Her eyes flew down to her feet. She took in the elaborate white dress—no, gown, Tommy called it a fucking gown—and realized that he’d even gone so far as to slip matching heels onto her as she slept.
No, she realized. Not slept. Passed out.
The pill. It had to be her pill. It was unnatural how tired it had made her, especially so quickly. He talked about doses. Did he… did he drug her?
He must’ve.
At least Tommy was right. The dizziness was beginning to fade. With that, came clarity. She prayed to God she was wrong, even as it all began to make terrible, terrible sense.
Her fear made her desperate. Desperation made her ask, even when she was sure she already knew what he’d say—and didn’t really want to hear it. She asked anyway.
“Later,” she said, her soft voice shaky and thick. “What… what’s later?”
Tommy took her by her shoulder, nudging her from her side until she was lying helplessly on her back. Propping himself up on his elbow, he hovered over her, the self-satisfied expression on his deceptively handsome face answering her a split second before he did.
“Our wedding, Grace. Tonight, I’ll finally have my bride.”
21
