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The man walks away. I listen to his retreating footsteps. “Ready for what?” I ask, my heart sinking. Who is everyone? In place for what?
“You and I are taking a drive to the cathedral.”
The cathedral. He must mean San Domenico. The one where my father’s funeral Mass was to be said. The one they raided, interrupting the service and desecrating his body.
“Why?” A cold sweat beads on my forehead and collects under my arms.
“For a happier occasion than the last time.” He takes my ring hand. “It’s time.”
My legs tremble beneath me. I’m not sure if I’m standing on my own or if he’s holding me up. “Time for what?”
“We’re getting married, Dandelion.”
My brain rattles inside my skull. “What? You said… You said it was just an engagement. Just to show…” But the events of the last days are too much. The funeral, the brother’s kidnapping me, that nightmare back again, keeping to its schedule. What I did then. The thing that made my father say those words. Half memories flash in my mind’s eye. Faces, laughter, and blood. Always blood coating the walls, caking them with the gore of human life. “You said it wasn’t real. A fake engagement.”
“You have a very selective memory. You said that. Not me. I told you to believe what you needed to get through that night.” I look down, trying to process. He brings one hand to my chin and tilts my head up. “I’m giving you what you want. What I promised. I’m giving you Emma. Remember that.”
There’s a long space of silence as if he’s letting me absorb his words, then process them. Be grateful for them?
“You’re not going to let us go, though, are you?” I ask, understanding. Or maybe I understood all along, and this is accepting. I steel myself in his grip and force my knees to lock, my legs to carry me. I push his arms off and lean away.
“I never said I was, princess.”
“I’m not your princess. Don’t ever call me that again.”
“Daddy’s nickname for you?”
I grit my jaw and shove at his chest. I need space. Need to be away from him because everything is confused when he’s so close. But it’s like trying to move a fucking brick wall.
“I’m happy to stick with Dandelion. It’ll help me remember. Either way, you will do as you’re told tonight. You will walk into that church on my arm. You will answer I do when asked. And you will sign the papers set before you. And after—”
“And after, you’ll let me see Emma.”
He nods with a tilt of his head and a smile that could fool anyone into thinking him a gentleman.
“I’m glad you understand,” he says.
“I understand perfectly, Amadeo. I understand perfectly what you are. The lengths you’ll go to get your precious revenge.” I stand taller and move closer, close enough that my chest presses against his because fuck space. I can’t be afraid of this man. This beast. But the touching of our bodies carries a sensation I don’t want. One I can’t process. And I have to tamp down the emotions I’m feeling, the confusion. “Now you understand this. I see you for what you are. I. See. You. And if you think you’re somehow better than my brother or my father, you’re not. You’re the same as them. And in me, you will have an enemy in your home.”
A heavy moment hangs between us, his eyes dark, the storm clouds collecting. Any hint of that fraudulent gentle smile has vanished. He brings the knuckles of one hand to my cheek. I don’t know if he’s brushing away a tear or what, but when he leans in close enough that the stubble along his jaw brushes my cheek and his breath tickles my ear, it raises every hair on the back of my neck, and I shudder.
“An enemy in my bed,” he says in a low, deep rumbling of his chest before he inhales as if memorizing my scent. He takes the lobe of my ear between his teeth.
I draw a shuddering breath and press my hands to his chest when one of his comes to my breast, cupping it, kneading the taut nipple.
“I wonder who you will hate more, me or yourself, when you lie beneath me. When you beg for release.”
“I will never beg you.”
He draws back, bringing his forehead to mine, our eyes locked.
“Won’t you?” Keeping me trapped with my back against the counter, he slides his hand over my stomach and into my leggings. I gasp as his fingers slip into my panties and curl around my sex.
My exhale is a trembling of breath, and I swallow audibly.
He grins. A small victory for him as they circle my clit.
“Won’t you, Dandelion?”
“I hate you,” I say as I stare stupidly up at him while he expertly moves his fingers until I’m on tiptoe, leaning into him, hands pressed against his chest as my traitorous body chooses a side. His.
“I’m sure you do. But you hate yourself more,” he says, drawing his hand out and checking the time on his watch. He smiles, showing me all his teeth. He turns me toward the exit and wraps a big hand around the back of my neck. “Let’s get married, Dandelion.”
