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My hand wanders to Zoe’s thigh under the table. I need the physical reassurance of her presence as much as I need her to understand who’s in charge. She stiffens at the gesture, her hand tightening on her water glass. The court official, a man called Big Ben for his unusual height and weight, is staring openly at her. It takes everything I have and some to not crush his skull with the bottle of champagne.
There are speeches about research developments between the courses of salmon terrine, sea bass, and strawberry mousse. I donated handsomely. Ploughing money back into the community keeps doors open for us. It helps make the influential corporate players and government officials turn their heads the other way where our illegal business is concerned.
Zoe pushes the food around on her plate. During the meal, she downs two glasses of champagne, and when the MC announces the start of the auction, she’s like a rice paper kite in a storm, looking as if her wings are about to be ripped off.
The sponsors—lovers or spouses—who volunteered the women participating in the auction proudly present their protégés when the MC calls their names. When it’s Zoe’s turn, I stand and offer her my hand.
She stares up at me with defiant eyes. There’s a moment’s hesitation, a moment of mistrust when her hate for me is written so clearly on her face it spears my unfeeling heart. I narrow my eyes in warning. If she defies me in front of all these people, I’ll make her pay in so many ways she’ll wish she’d never brought that lesson upon herself. My pulse beats in my temples as another second passes and the MC clears his throat. Just when I think Zoe is going to decline, she slips her small hand into mine.
I pull her to her feet, my face decorated with the smile I’ve adopted for the gentry, but the gesture goes no further than my mouth. Behind my tightly stretched lips, my teeth are clenched. Zoe’s hesitation only lasted a moment, but a moment is long enough, especially for the sharp eyes of the predators surrounding us. I thought I’d made better progress with my flower, but it seems I’ve underestimated her. She may need a stronger hand.
Lifting her arm, I turn her in a circle. The hall breaks out in applause. Men nod enthusiastically while women stare daggers. In the midst of salivating wolves and hateful envy stands an innocent little lamb, my virgin sacrifice.
“Fifty,” someone calls from the back before the MC has even opened the bidding.
It’s what I wanted, for everyone to see who owns her, but the over-eager interest makes my hackles rise. Laughter erupts. Someone pats the impatient bidder on the back. Red-hot jealousy burns in my gut.
“Since the bidding seems to be open,” the MC says with a chuckle, “who’d like—”
“One hundred,” someone calls.
I turn around. The actor is a national celebrity.
Zoe looks at me quickly. One hundred thousand is the highest bid of the evening yet.
“One hundred and fifty,” a fat parliament member says.
Zoe’s eyes are burning on my face. I’m not looking at her, but I can feel her stare, her plea.
“Going once,” the MC calls.
She lays a hand on my arm, her fingers digging into my skin.
Don’t worry, my little flower. Be quiet and learn your lesson in trust.
“Going twice.” The MC lifts his hammer.
“Two hundred,” I say.
Zoe’s chest deflates. Her relief is so great her body sags against mine.
A strong voice with an accent reverberates through the space. “Five hundred.”
The room goes quiet. All heads turn toward the owner of the voice. I isolate him in my vision like a torpedo homes in on a target. Our eyes meet across the table.
Leonardo.
There’s a challenge in his, a deviant intention. I want to squash him like a bug. My body tenses, every muscle preparing to rip him apart when Jerome’s hand falls on my shoulder.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Jerome whispers.
No. I’m not going to let him get to me. Neither is he getting Zoe. Over my dead body.
“She’s not worth it,” Jerome continues. “Not the Italian deal.”
Wrong fucking words. I shake him off. “One million.”
Gasps sound around the room. Zoe stares at me with big eyes, her lush lips parted.
“Wow, uh…” The MC gives a high-pitched laugh. “That sets a new record. I have one million euros for Miss Zoe Hart. Do I have one million and one?”
Leonardo shakes his head at the MC, but his smile is aimed at me. Instead of looking slain, he appears victorious.
“One million going to Mr. Belshaw.”
Jerome looks at me as if I’ve lost my marbles. If only he knew. I would’ve paid two million. I would’ve given everything I own to keep another man’s hands off the woman I’ve claimed. Mission accomplished. The message was dealt. Zoe belongs to me. She doesn’t know it, but I’ve just painted a big hands-off sign all over her delectable body. She’ll be mine for all eternity.
