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17
Alaric
I've done a lot of fucked-up shit in my lifetime, but this has to be the biggest mess I've gotten myself into so far.
I watch Monroe sleeping. She looks like an angel, so innocent, so pure. Her blond strands of hair cover the pillow, and her full lips are slightly parted. Her heavy chest rises and falls as she sleeps, and my cock hardens at the sight. Fuck, I can't help myself around her.
What the hell was I thinking last night? I should never have introduced Monroe as my fiancée. Now I'm fucked. I have to marry her or risk the Lombardi family getting their dirty hands on my girl.
Still, I don't regret it. I can't bear the thought of Alessandro getting his hands on her. I'd have to kill him for it, and then I'd really be in a world of trouble.
Before my eyes, Monroe yawns and stretches in the bed like an innocent kitten.
"Good morning," I grunt.
"Morning." She rubs her eyes and looks up at me. Her expression is so trusting it fucking hurts. She shouldn't trust me. I'm a fucking monster. Yet I can't help myself, even though I know it would be best for Monroe to hide her away somewhere where the Lombardis won't find her.
I watch the memory of what happened last night dawn on Monroe, and her expression darkens as she remembers everything I put her through yesterday. Her bottom lip trembles, making me feel guilty as fuck.
"What's going to happen now, Alaric?" she asks softly.
"What has to happen," I reply firmly. "Tomorrow, we're going to get married. Today, we're going to look for a wedding dress."
Monroe's jaw hangs open as she realizes I'm totally serious. But I don't leave her any room to argue. I usher her into the bathroom and take my sweet time washing her myself. As my strong arms roam her gorgeous, voluptuous body, I find it hard not to fuck her then and there. But I resist the urge. Instead, I soap her up and lather her hair with shampoo.
"Why are you being so caring?" she asks softly.
"Someone has to take care of you," I mutter in response, washing the suds off her full tits.
"I can take care of myself, thank you very much."
I smirk at her, saying, "You aren't resisting much for someone who's so determined to be independent."
She flushes, not arguing anymore as I wash the shampoo out of her hair. Once we're done, I wrap her up in a towel and watch her intensely as she dries her hair, styles it, and puts on a small amount of makeup. She looks so fucking stunning it hurts. The only thing that hurts more than her beauty is the thought of some prick getting his dirty hands on her. And this only strengthens my resolve to make Monroe mine once and for all. I can't risk Alessandro stealing her, and the only way to prevent that is to marry the girl.
I take her to an upscale wedding boutique where an overly friendly employee happily chatters to Monroe as she guides her between the rows of hangers. I see my girl checking the price of one of the dresses discreetly. She pales. The dress probably costs more than a year of care in her grandmother's nursing home.
But she's worth it.
"I must say, it's quite unusual for the groom to come dress shopping with the bride!" The sales attendant is smiling at me widely, and I fight the urge to snap back. "But whatever works for you two lovebirds!"
I mutter something incomprehensible in response, my eyes still following Monroe as she moves through the shop.
"I'm going to take the bride to the back to try something on now," the attendant beams, but when she tries to walk away, I block her path.
"No," I hiss, making her swallow thickly as her heavily made-up face falls. "I don't want you alone together. I want to watch her change."
"Oh?" The lady chuckles nervously. "I must say, that's very unusual..."
"I don't care," I bark. "I'm paying you enough so you don't ask stupid questions. Either I watch her change or she's not trying anything on at all."
"Of course." She smiles, obviously freaking out. She probably doesn't know shit, so even flashing my red bracelet won't work. But she's too afraid to argue with me, even though she's uncomfortable as fuck.
"Which one do you like?" I ask Monroe a moment later.
"Does it matter?" she whispers, earning another curious look from the saleslady. "It's not like this is my dream wedding. So who cares?"
"Just pick something," I hiss while my bride-to-be sighs and keeps browsing the racks.
Finally, she pulls out a few dresses, and the overly enthusiastic sales lady takes them all to the changing room. I follow the two women there, taking a seat on a plush beige armchair. I force Monroe to keep the curtain in the shop open. I slipped enough money in the saleslady's pocket to ensure we're the only ones in here, and I've seen her naked already. While the assistant, a prim-and-proper girl in her late twenties, fills my glass with champagne, my eyes are glued to Monroe slipping off her clothes while her cheeks burn with shame.
