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The waiter hands me her coat, which I hang around her shoulders. “You needed the rest.”
She doesn’t reply.
She tenses more when I take her elbow to steer her across the deck and downstairs to our cabin. The rocking of the yacht is gentle, but it’s easy to lose your balance if you’re not stable on your feet on the sea. Even though she doesn’t seem to need my help, I insist anyway.
The yacht is a work of art. The Sea Hawk is fitted with the best quality stainless steel railings and Burmese teak decks. Blue floor lights illuminate our way.
“Here,” I say, indicating the door at the end of the passageway.
I open it and step aside for her to enter. When she spots the woman in the white tunic waiting inside, she stops abruptly.
The esthetician smiles warmly. “Good evening, Mrs. Russo.” She nods at me. “Sir. Everything is ready.”
Sabella flings around, facing me with borderline panic. “Ready for what?”
“For preparing you for our wedding night,” I say as I take her coat and throw it over the back of a chair.
“Preparing me how?”
I close the door and lock it. “You can start by undressing and lying down on the bed.”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Sabella
The woman has a professional air, but I sense kindness too. I address her rather than Angelo. I have a better chance of finding sympathy with her than with my husband. “I don’t want to.”
If I thought she’d show me compassion, I was mistaken. She irons out the white towel on the bed as if she hasn’t heard me.
It becomes clear what she—or rather, Angelo—has planned when I take in the preparations on the nightstand. Wax is heating in a bowl over a tea light candle. A pair of scissors and tubes of cream are set out next to it.
“Gloria is very good,” Angelo says to my back. “You can trust her.”
I don’t move an inch. My muscles tense, everything inside me begging for violence. I want to hurt him, and the sentiment scares me. The person I don’t like, the one who rears her head whenever Angelo is around, is becoming a little stronger with every minute I’m in his presence. I’m yet to deal with what I almost did, what I would’ve done if the gun was loaded. I hate who that makes me. I can’t even face myself right now. I don’t want to be that woman, but I already am. Losing myself frightens me more than life as my husband’s prisoner.
Brushing my hair over my shoulder, Angelo presses a kiss on my neck before saying softly in my ear, “I can always strip you and tie you up.”
It’s futile to resist. My arguments don’t matter to him. What I want is of no consequence. I learned that the hard way. I have no doubt he’ll humiliate me in front of the woman by executing his threat.
Escaping his touch, I walk to the bed and start removing my clothes. Gloria takes every item as it comes off and lays it on a bench in front of a dresser. When it comes to my underwear, I refuse to hand it to her. I place them on top of the pile of clothes, my cheeks burning as I stand naked in front of her while Angelo bears witness.
“Here,” she says, taking my hand and helping me onto the bed. “You can lie down.”
I stare at the ceiling as I obey, hating them both even though she’s very gentle. I’m grateful for the folded towel she drapes over my upper body, leaving me naked from the waist down.
Angelo pulls a chair up to the end of the bed and makes himself comfortable while the woman busies herself with stirring the wax. He leans his arms on the padded armrests and stretches out his legs in front of him.
I clench my teeth. “Getting ready for the show?”
He smiles. “I wasn’t seeing it like that, but if that’s what you want, I’m happy to oblige.”
Asshole. “If you’re not watching like the pervert you are, then why are you here?”
His tone remains reasonable. “To make sure you’re treated as I instructed.”
“Being tortured?”
He seems amused. “Pampered.”
