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I swallow. “And what will that afford me?”
“A measure of protection. My father won’t touch you, he wouldn’t dare.” He clenches his jaw. “And my brothers won’t hit on you.”
I look down at my fingers, so small they could belong to a child. I’ve always had tiny hands. “No ring, though.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Of course he will. Probably owns a jeweler’s or something. Diamond mine in Russia.
When he lets me go, I stumble a little. I didn’t realize I was leaning on him. He steadies me with a gentle hand to my elbow.
“Get ready. I’ll send Marialena up to help you with whatever you need. And remember, Vittoria.” His voice rings with command. “The blue one.”
Turns out his hand on my elbow gives him a little assistance so he can swing me around to deliver a parting crack to the ass that makes me hiss in a breath.
When he leaves, the room feels cooler. I fight a wave of disappointment. Or is it fear?
I remind myself those guards are right outside my door. They might not be able to stop Narciso Rossi, but they’d buy me some time…
I turn to the rack of clothes. They’re probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not more. I stare at the glimmering fabric, the luxurious softness and brilliance of gems and sequins. Is this what it’s like to be rich? Is this even what I want? I think back to the nights stretched out on the back seat of my car, of the zeroes in my bank account, and heave a labored sigh. These clothes are gorgeous.
I hear voices in the hall, then a gentle knock.
“Babe, it’s me. Let me in.”
Marialena. I open the door, holding a dress. “I think pink’s my color, don’t you?”
She grins. “He wants another one, doesn’t he?”
“How’d you know?”
One of the stoic bodyguards lets his eyes rove over her before the door shuts behind her with a bang.
She shrugs. “Eh, he’s a bossy guy. Was ordering his nannies around before he could speak full sentences. Now, babe.” She gentles her voice. “You have to understand. Romeo comes across as a hard-ass.”
I snort. “No way. Really?”
She rolls her eyes as she extricates the dress from my hands and lays it on the bed.
“They all do, well, except maybe Orlando but even he has his moments.”
“You mean the one with those fuck—” I stop myself. He doesn’t like swearing. Why do I care? “The one with skulls tattooed across his knuckles?”
“The very same,” she says. She walks to the closet on death-defying heels.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Walk on, like, stilettos.”
She waves a hand in the air. “It’s all practice. I’ll teach you.”
“I think I like flats.”
She grins at me. “Girl, I’ll hook you up. Cinderella had a Fairy Godmother. You, my friend, have Marialena.” She winks at me, then glances at her phone. “Oof. Fifteen minutes.” She turns to face me like I’m a problem that needs fixing. “We’ve got some work to do.”
Precisely fourteen minutes later, we leave the room in utter shambles and walk downstairs. She holds my hand to help me with the heels, and I almost bail on her. These are what she calls “strappy wedges,” and she says they’re the easiest ones to walk in. I’m not so sure about that.
She’s fixed my hair and slapped on makeup and zipped up my dress before spritzing me with perfume that smells like it was bottled in the clouds of heaven. When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize myself.
I look… elegant. Refined.
Worth it.
The music plays on as we walk downstairs. Butterflies take flight in my belly. Narciso will be down here. They all will.
There are a lot more people than I anticipated. I look around for a familiar face, and see a few—Rosa, and Mario. They’re speaking quietly in a corner of the room. Why do they all allow someone like him to do what he does?
I look from left to right, and don’t see him anywhere. Tavi sits at a bar that’s alongside one wall in the Great Hall, nursing a shot. Marialena takes my hand. “Come, let’s get a drink.”
Where’s Romeo?
My hands feel cold and clammy, and briefly, I consider running back upstairs and changing. Wearing what he asked me to. Not openly defying him. Maybe it will be nice to see those blue-gray eyes of his light up with pleasure and approval, and not—
“Ah, bella mia.” I gasp at the firm grip of fingers on my arm, a low voice in my ear, and as soon as my heartbeat spikes, my belly warms because I recognize Romeo’s clean, masculine scent. “You forgot something, didn’t you?”
Marialena’s a few steps ahead of me, at the bar. She turns to me and quickly notes Romeo’s hand on my arm. Rolling her eyes, she snaps her fingers at me.
