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“Libby?” I ask hopefully.
Rory shakes his head. “Sorcha.”
I don’t really know Sorcha. We’ve met a couple of times and she’s been polite, friendly, but sort of detached. She seems like the perfect mob widow to me, keeping close to her late husband’s family and never putting a foot wrong. It’s unlikely I’d be able to persuade her to help me escape.
“She’ll have a couple of dresses for you to try on. Pick one and don’t give her any shit.”
“Okay.” I glance up at his sternly handsome face. His jaw is clenched tight, like he’s barely holding onto his temper. “Why is she bringing dresses?”
“Because we’re getting married this morning,” he grits out.
My brow furrows. “You and Sorcha?”
The look Rory gives me suggests he thinks it was a stupid question, which I guess it was. He clarifies nonetheless.
“You and me.”
My stomach lurches.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.” Rory puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out a red velvet ring box. “You’re a witness, a threat to my family. We don’t like loose ends, so there are two ways your day can end, in wedded bliss or eternal rest.”
The grim way he sayswedded blissmakes me think the second option is actually the more appealing one. He thrusts the ring box at me and I take it. I open the box to find a delicate platinum band with an oval cut emerald surrounded by glistening diamonds. It’s stunning but I frown deeply as I consider what accepting it would mean.
“Don’t you like it?”
I can’t be certain, but I think I detect a note of anxiety in Rory’s voice. It matters to him if I like the ring.
“It’s beautiful. I love it.”
“Good, because it’s that, or a bullet. Take your pick.”
“The ring,” I say when I realize he’s staring expectantly at me, waiting for an answer. “I pick the ring.”
“Then put it on.”
Tears burn behind my eyes as I take the ring out of the box and slip it onto my finger. I never really fantasized about a man proposing to me one day, but however I thought someone would ask me to marry them, it wasn’t like this. The ring is a little tight, but I manage to push it over my knuckle.
“There.” I hold my hand up for Rory to see.
He stares at the gorgeous piece of jewelry now adorning my left hand for a moment. A myriad of emotion flits across his face — pride, lust, rage — before his features settle into an inscrutable expression once more.
“Good. Now, behave when Sorcha gets here. You’re already looking at a punishment. You don’t want to increase it.”
Before I can ask him what the hell he means by punishment, he marches from the room, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, the key turns, locking me in once more. I pick up a piece of bacon from my plate. It’s cold but still deliciously salty and savory. I eat it and gulp down the last dregs of coffee. A throbbing behind my eyes tells me I’m in for a headache.
Hoping that a nice warm bath will ease the tension, I go to the bathroom and put the stopper in the tub. I start the water running and then strip off my clothes. I look around for bubble bath or something else to make the water smell nice, but there’s just a bar of soap available.
Perhaps when I’ve been upgraded from captive to wife, I can ask for some scented oils. I scoff at the naïve thought that being Rory’s wife is going to be any different to being his prisoner. He’s not marrying me out of love, or even desire. It’s to keep me close so he can control me, keep me from talking.
On that depressing note, I sink into the water, close my eyes and hope that by some miracle my troubles will be washed away.
CHAPTERSIX
Eleanor
Rory toldme to expect Sorcha in an hour, but it feels like it’s been twice that long. I’m lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, when I finally hear them outside my door. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but I can tell they’re bickering. I sit up on the bed, the ends of my frizzy hair damp and bedraggled after my bath. Though I can’t make out the conversation, I do hear something about Sorcha getting here as soon as she could. They’re arguing about her being late, it seems.
