Page 7 of His Ruthless Obsession

I slip a hand down my belly and to the hem of my panties, slipping the tips of my fingers under them to—

Just then, a knock at my door has me ripping my hand back.

My mother, Gia, storms in. “Up, up! Big day ahead, Antonella!”

I wince when she claps her hands together. Why does she have to be soloud? She knew Etta and I went drinking last night.

Speak of the devil.

Etta wanders into my room with an icepack clutched to her head. I sit up again slowly, watching my friend closely while my mother flits around the room.

When I catch Etta’s attention, I mouth silently, “Did you sleep here?”

She only shrugs at me, wincing as she does so. That makes me squint. What didthatmean? Did she goto someone's houseand sneak in before anyone was awake?

The thought makes me blush and my mind immediately returns to my dark stranger.

Both Etta and I stay as discreet as possible while my mother invites more people into my room. They sprint back and forth from the door, getting ready for the ceremony that’s happening in less than three hours.

Leo, my tabby cat, wanders in somberly through the rush, as if sensing I need him. He jumps onto the bed and curls into my lap, comforting me. He’s the one thing I’m going to miss from this house. The only living thing to keep me company while I cried myself to sleep for nights on end.

I have to leave him behind, because apparently, Ben is allergic to cats. Yet another reason why our pairing was a match made in hell.

I feel like a complete zombie, not wanting to move at all from my spot in my bed. Couldn’t I just get married here? In my robe with my curtains drawn closed?

Every so often, my mother comes around with a glass of water for both Etta and I, forcing it down our throats until the entire thing is gone. She alternates this every half hour with espressos.

It makes me roll my eyes.

“Antonella, stop with the attitude. If I see you roll your eyes one more time, I’m going to give you something to cry about.”

Fury burns in my gut. “You want me to pretend to be happy? Like you did on your wedding day? Just sit here and take it? Yeah, no thanks.”

She doesn’t bother with a rebuttal, simply walking out of the room with both glasses in hand.

I hate how she treats me. Like a child that needed to be locked away inside a tower until it was convenient for my family to rip me out of it. I know her mother did the same to her.

It’s a vicious cycle.

Daughters are never more than pawns in their fathers’ wicked games.

The second I had gotten home from meeting Ben, I’d sought her out. Hoping, stupidly, for some advice, or even for her to see that this entire ordeal needed to be called off.

I remembered from her stories that she had been in the same position as me once upon a time. But not once did she ever validate my feelings. Instead, she told me that this is the fate the women in our family must endure—as we always have.

It made me cry. I’d begged her, but nothing changed. She refused to go to my father and bring up anything that might irritate him, forfear of the consequences.

Eventually, I get extracted from my bed so they can do my makeup and hair. Two things that I normally love to do, but are now soured by the occasion.

I watch my makeup artist work her magic. She’s a pretty girl with a slim build. Her dark eyes roam over my face while she paints my skin. Her blonde hair is a honey color that makes me envious. I’ve always wanted to go blonde, but I don’t have the skin tone for it. Black hair suits me better.

When she finishes, she spins me around on my stool so I can see my reflection in the vanity.

“What do you think?”

I try to smile at her, more than aware that I look like a younger version of my mother all dolled up like this. My worst nightmare was becoming her.

And I feel like history is repeating itself.

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