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My. Wedding. Day.
Brides are supposed to feel excited about their future. They are supposed to worry over making the ceremony goes off without a hitch—not on how long they will be alive after they say I do.
I haven’t met the groom yet. It doesn’t really matter. I’m a prisoner here. There’s no way to escape the wedding. The only person in my corner is Marco. That wasn’t something I expected. Father sent him away on an errand after I was captured, but when he came back, he was irate that I had been beaten. I thought they might kill me. Atlas taunted me with the possibility often. Marco somehow made them stop. He even managed to have a doctor look at my wounds. There are days I’m grateful to him and then other times—like today—I wish he had let me die.
I’m currently locked in my bedroom at Doyle Kelly’s Boston home. That’s nothing new. It has been like this since I arrived, and it was like this when my father brought me back to his home in Greece.
My hand goes to the middle of my rib cage on my left side. I gingerly slide over the raised skin there. It’s covered by a bandage and feels lumpy even under my loose shirt. I’m dreading tomorrow because I know the tight wedding dress that someone—I assume my husband-to-be—picked out for me will be painful to wear. My father decided I needed a permanent reminder of the power he holds over me and branded me with the Stratakis family crest. I don’t remember much about that day. I passed out from the pain. Since then, the wound became infected, and I think I’ve just become numb to everything that is causing me misery.
It's so hard for me to believe that just a month ago I felt hopeful and free. The life I was living on that small island made me feel alive and joyful. That’s definitely in the past now. I’m sitting on my bed, staring out the window—a window with black, wrought-iron bars. I don’t see any of the colors of the sky. It all feels oppressive and devoid of anything happy. I close my eyes and immediately, Antonio DeLuca’s face comes to mind. I’ve thought of him often since our night together, but after my father captured me, he has become my escape. I can block out the world around me and instead, concentrate on his beautiful face in my mind. Sometimes, I even pretend that he charges in my room like some fairytale knight, intent on saving the day and rescuing me.
That’s not happening. Logically, I know that. Still, it’s a beautiful dream and it’s one that I wish would happen. I’ve always been a dreamer. As a child that’s how I survived my family. It looks like that will be how I survive adulthood, too.
Until I don’t.
I’ve heard the others talking around me. Doyle Kelly is not a nice man. The household staff has been whispering and are wondering if he will kill me like he killed his last wife. That little bit of news should alarm me, but I think at this point, I’ve just become resigned to whatever my future holds. I have idly wondered how many times Kelly has been married. Did his other wives end up like his last one, too? I know it’s entirely possible. After my father’s departing present to me, I’ve wondered if I truly know what happened to my mother.
I jerk when there’s a knock on my door. Every muscle I have in my body tightens, and the pain from my wound shoots through my body, causing a small whimper to escape my parched lips.
Will this be the moment I meet my future husband?
The door opens and my brother steps through. I breathe a little easier. He looks at my untouched dinner and shakes his head before letting out a weary sigh. “You need to eat, Lina.”
“Why?” I ask, and I’m not really kidding. I’m tired of struggling to survive. I can’t stop what is about to happen. I’m powerless. Truly—if I think about it—I must admit that I’ve been powerless my entire life.
“Listen, I know I’ve been a shit brother, but I’m trying to protect you here.”
“I’m marrying a man old enough to be my grandfather.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Heck, maybe even yours.”
“You’ll be able to get away at the wedding.”
“Is that before or after I become Mrs. Kelly?” I don’t believe him. I’ve already given up all hope.
“Will you trust me?”
I frown at him and shake my head no. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. All five of you have left me at father’s mercy. How am I supposed to believe you’re willing to help me now when you haven’t bothered before?”
“I did what I could do. You know father rules with an iron fist. If you think his punishments were bad for his little girl, you should try being his son.”
I think about what he’s saying. I could imagine father wouldn’t think twice about being even more violent with my brothers. After all, the brand on my side seemed to be something he had done before.
“You are stronger than father. If he’s that bad, then why don’t you...”
“Why don’t I what? Plot a mutiny?” Marco asks, with a bitter laugh.
“Why not?”
“Because money always talks and I can plan anything I want, but until I have the cash to back up my actions, planning is all I can do.”
“Do you think that will change before my wedding?” I mock.
“I think it could.”
“What do you know that I don’t?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.
“I know that tomorrow is going to be a busy day and you need to eat. Please, Lina? I know we aren’t close, but believe it or not, I do care about you. Now, eat.” He picks up the sandwich and chips that were left for me earlier.
I look at Marco—reallylook at him. For the first time, I see a lightness on his face that I’ve never seen. Maybe that’s why, instead of arguing, I take the plate from him. I still don’t think I have a chance of getting away tomorrow, but he seems worried about me. Since none of my family has ever cared before, I allow myself a moment to enjoy that and eat a chip.
