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Apparently not.
“Pretty too,” he commented, tilting his head to regard me in a way that made me need another shower.
I was dressed for work, in clothes that Cristian had bought for me. So my dress was tight, expensive, classy and fit like it was made for me. The pointed Jimmy Choos that I liked more than a woman like me should like a pair of overpriced shoes were the same blood red as my dress and gave me an extra six inches.
My hair was pulled into a tight bun, and my makeup was minimal but expertly applied. I looked good. Attractive. But I was not someone who could be described as ‘pretty.’ The word was much too soft. Innocent. Pure. I was none of those things.
He was mocking me with the word somehow. Using it to try to categorize me as something inconsequential and vulnerable. Something that he could squash, bruise, own.
Though I both loathed and loved the fact, I was already owned by a man. A real one.
This wasn’t a real man. I could tell at first glance. The energy in the room, his gaze on my skin. He wanted to own women, he wanted them to hate and love it. He wanted them to want him. And when they didn’t want him in the right way, he took it all anyway.
I knew what all the guards looked like, and they’d never come in the house. They were all dressed exactly the same, in black suits. This man was wearing a dark navy suit and a striped shirt underneath, open collar, showing a smooth, tanned neck. It was natural, that tan. His features were dark, heavy, Italian if I had to guess. Which wasn’t exactly rocket science, since I was in the home of an Italian mafia boss.
I hadn’t encountered anyone but Felix in the house and that was by design. Cristian wasn’t afraid of hurting me, but he didn’t want anyone else to do it. Not yet at least.
But I couldn’t shake the premonition that the man in front of me meant me harm.
Cristian had muttered about me ‘training’ with Felix when we did talk, and I hadn’t liked the sound of that. Hadn’t liked the thought of being close to Felix. I hadn’t seen him up close since that night in the dining room. I was pissed that I hadn’t pushed getting some kind of training. Pissed that I hadn’t gotten it long ago. I should’ve known how to defend myself beyond some rudimentary self-defense. Because what little I did know now wasn’t going to do shit. I was in real danger.
Though I was afraid, I did not back away when he rounded the kitchen island and prowled toward me.
He was wearing a suit, bespoke, the fabric falling over his body like fucking silk and should’ve made him look classy, attractive. But somehow, along with his slicked hair, square jawline, tanned skin and too perfect features, it made him ... slimy looking.
Though I’d expected it, he stepped into my personal space without hesitation, bearing no mind to what was polite. Bearing no mind to the fact it was my right to choose who entered that space. I had no rights. Not in this house. He already knew that even though we’d never met.
His expensive cologne was strong and nauseating. I’d become accustomed to one man being this close to me. Cristian’s scent was at complete odds with the person he was. It was light, pleasing, comforting. I yearned for it right now. Him. I yearned for him to come and save me.
Which was ridiculous since he was the villain in all of this.
I gritted my teeth as the man in front of me grabbed onto my wrist, pulling it upward so he could examine my left hand.
His grip only tightened as his eyes caught the diamond glittering on my finger.
“So you’re the bride,” he sneered.
I refused to shrink away from this man, to cry out, even though the grip on my wrist was becoming unbearable. My chin jutted upward, and I met his eyes.
“I’m the bride,” I stated for the first time since all of this had happened. I knew that this title, the one I thought might kill me, might be the only thing to keep me alive in this moment. I didn’t feel shame admitting it either. At being owned. Even in this moment, where my safety was uncertain, I fucking loved the feeling that came with being Cristian’s bride.
“So you would do well to take your hands off me,” I added, the threat clear.
His eyes went from my ring to my face. The sneer left, and his mouth stretched into an amused smile.
“Ah you’ve got a backbone,” he observed in a patronizing tone. “Interesting. I would’ve thought he’d try to replace her.”
The room seemed to pitch and tilt. Her. The girl. The one Cristian told me had died in that clipped, emotionless way. The one I had spent far too much time thinking about, wondering about. She was dead. Years gone. But I had a feeling she was very much alive for Cristian.
