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No. you can’t do that. I closed my eyes, allowing Francesco’s image to form in my mind again. Then a trickle of electricity skittered down my spine.
Francesco had asked me to trust him. For what reason? How could I? Oh, God. How could I go through with this? Francesco…
Think positively. Everything will be okay.
Right.
Okay, think seductively.
At least that little command made me chuckle under my breath.
Debauchery.
For some crazy reason, the word continued to float into my mind, the tidal wave effect keeping the dull throb active between my legs. While I didn’t have my handy, dandy vibrator with me, that didn’t mean I hadn’t indulged in pleasuring myself more than once, including in the shower. That had been with hopes still in my heart. Those were now gone, replaced with the ugliness of reality.
“Stand still,” Olga told me as she continued fastening the tiny buttons on the horrifically gaudy wedding dress. One that I hated with a passion. Her harsh voice dragged me out of the pleasant moment. “It’s almost time. You need to look perfect.”
Perfect. Was there such a thing when marrying a beast?
“As if I care.” She was used to hearing my nasty words, but I also had a feeling she relayed them back to Dante. I didn’t care. I was finished with caring. At least once the wedding was over with, I could more adequately plan my husband’s demise.
That was if my hero didn’t come save me.
Stop it! Don’t be a naïve fool.
What was I saying? I’d shoved Francesco aside with such efficiency that he hadn’t chased me out the door. I’d shed the same ugly tears I had on the night I’d rushed back to the previous fiancé’s house, only to be beaten to within an inch of my life. It was as if God had punished me for my sins, not the man I’d thought loved me.
Then things had gone from bad to worse.
I struggled not to think about the additional consequences, or the continued betrayal I felt from my father. Sighing, I knew I had to shove aside any thoughts of seeing Francesco again. I had to remind myself that he wasn’t any different than Dante, just slightly more polished around the edges.
Even if tingling sensations remained. There was an electric vibe in the air, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But I knew in my heart that something tragic was going to happen. Or maybe it already had.
Francesco Arturo. I’d tried to carefully find out everything I could about the insanely gorgeous and very powerful man, even able to sneak onto a computer for a few minutes. My search had done little more than confirm what I’d sensed. He hadn’t lied to me. He simply hadn’t wanted to tell me about his dangerous world. Another wave of anger rushed into me, and I finally forced myself to look into the full-length mirror, laughter bubbling to the surface.
Everything was spinning out of control.
“Try to smile,” the older woman said out of the blue. “It is your wedding day. You are marrying the most eligible bachelor in New York.”
“Not even close,” I said without thinking.
Was there a girl anywhere who didn’t fantasize about her wedding day? Granted, maybe I was creating a huge fairytale that normal girls in my generation didn’t feel or accept, but I’d loved the thought of the pomp and circumstance.
I’d even tried on my mother’s dress when I was a teenager, pretending as if I was walking down the aisle.
Sadly, my beautiful mother had been several inches taller, the gangly girl I’d been not providing a beautiful bride under the satin and lace. Death hadn’t become her. I wasn’t certain why the random thought entered my mind other than I hadn’t been able to stop aching all week, my heart forever broken.
Now I stood in a couture wedding dress that likely cost two hundred thousand dollars, the ridiculous diamond-encrusted bodice alone worth significantly more than most people made a year. To me, there was nothing more disgusting than the sight of the woman standing in front of me, her reflection offering a tainted look at what was supposed to be an amazing day.
Four days had passed. I’d half expected to see Francesco burning down the house my father and I were staying in to get to me. However, I hadn’t seen or heard a thing about him. Not that I’d been allowed to join into the conversations about what was going on, but I was an observant woman, so much so that I’d managed to listen in on several conversations.
There was something going on, but I was so far in the dark, my mind was playing tricks on me.
What I did enjoy was the fact both men seemed extremely nervous, as if waiting for doomsday. I could only imagine how many soldiers were inside the church.
Since the night of my taste of freedom, I’d been kept mostly locked up, my privileges to leave the house revoked, even though I’d slipped back into the house sight unseen, returning the ankle monitor without incident.
Then I’d dreamt of my incredible lover, the imagery of the night we’d shared vivid, his scent remaining for hours after he’d dropped me off. I’d been shaken to the core, refusing to fall into a series of ridiculous emotions as I’d done before. I was an entirely different girl.
