Page 55 of Finally, His

Alexander didn’t say a word until they rounded the corner. Then he stopped her abruptly and looked down at her with those ice-blue eyes. “Do not let them get to you.”

His voice was so commanding that, under normal circumstances, she might consider what he said.

“What were they talking about before I got there? I mean, they didn’t …” She almost asked it out loud. Alexander had that effect on people. He often had them admit things, tell the truth.

Truth.

Richard had asked for that, hadn’t he? Only there was one truth he would never forgive her for, and it would end everything. How badly she’dlethim use her.

How Wayne coerced her into marrying him.

How he, at first, made love to her sweetly.

How it had turned ugly.

How he never took “no” for an answer.

How he was the one who turned her into a prostitute.

He once locked her out of the car in a parking lot in the pouring rain until she promised to give him a blow job. Eventually, he didn’t allow her food unless she gave him sexual favors.

Her ribs hurt from hunching over. “I just need to get out of here. Could you drive me to …?” She almost said “home,” but she wasn’t sure she’d have one again.

“Richard will want to drive you home,” he finished.

“I can’t stay here.”

“You must.”

Then she had to get out of the wedding dress right now. She rushed forward, went behind the curtain, and started ripping at the dress.

“Whoa, there, you’re going to ruin it,” one of the dressers cried. He started to help her out of it, but she couldn’t get it off fast enough.

Sarah rushed over with Laurent. “Charlotte, what’s going on?”

Richard’s voice met her ears. “Give us a minute.”

Like a receding wave on a beach, everyone slunk back.

Richard’s face morphed into something she couldn’t read. She’d thought she’d memorized all his faces, but right then, his face wasn’t recognizable in the slightest—tense lips, eyes hooded with fury.

That was the moment, wasn’t it? When her life fell apart again?

Richard strode up to her and peered down at her. “I’ll take her out of the dress.”

Of course, he would. He’d never want to see it on her again.

A while ago, Richard had told her about his grandmother Maria. How she’d had to do whatever it took to survive Mussolini’s terror in Sorrento—even using her own body. How she’d vowed never to be at the mercy of men again and made everyone in their family swear to pass on a promise: never let another woman in their family stoop so low.

Richard’s mother had made him promise the same thing. To never let a woman in his path bring herself to his grandmother’s state—to let herself be taken to the point of sacrificing one’s own dignity.

Charlotte had always felt somehow that meeting Richard was kismet, a sign from his mother’s grave.

But now? He’d learned the worst of her, and his anger, shining from his eyes, made her skin prickle.

He took her back to the farthest corner of the dressing area and pulled her behind one of the accordion screens. He spun her so she faced away from him. Then silently began to unbutton the tiny row of buttons down her back. He wasn’t gentle.

“Spread your legs. There’s something of mine I’m going to retrieve,” he growled.

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