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Crossing my arms over my chest to keep my breasts from grazing his shirt, I ask, “What’s your endgame, Rowan? If I accept, what do you get out of this deal? A little side hustle selling drugs on our area of Boston isn’t worth your time.”
“I. Get. You.” He punctuates his words as if he wants to make sure I understand him. “Because I don’t want you on paper alone. I want everything that comes with marriage.”
I huff. “An arranged marriage with benefits.”
“Withallthe benefits. And I meaneverything, Lou. I want it all, and I want it done with a smile.”
I snicker. “You’re not seriously implying you’d be willing to go to war and take out half of Boston in the process just to get into my pants.”
He somehow manages to get closer, seeming larger. Against my will, I take one step back and another when he follows. Then my back is against the wall and he’s crowding me, looming over me as he braces a hand by my head.
Leaning in, he takes a piece of my hair and twirls it around his index finger. His gaze darkens to deep cobalt as he inhales, then my name rumbles over his lips like butter and sin. “Louisa Duran.”
To my shame, I begin to tremble like a fucking rabbit in the face of a wolf. And fuck me, but I’m not sure if I want to cower or offer myself up as his dinner.
And just like a wolf, he gives me a toothy grin before he moves his face closer, his lips grazing my cheek as he growls into my ear, “Just to get into your pants, I’d burn the down the city. I don’t just want to get into your pants. I want to get into your head, into your fucking soul. So imagine what I’d do for that.”
6
LOUISA
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, staring dead ahead, doing my best to ignore the elephant in the room. But it would be easier to ignore a huge stinky beast than the large pink box beside me.
I side-eye it, glaring at the frilly white stuff visible through the window of its lid. I’m not sure what’s worse, the doom it would mean for me if I were to wear it or my curiosity to find out what sort of wedding gown Rowan would choose. Not that he has bad taste in what he wears. Quite the opposite, the way he dresses emphasizes all of his best attributes. But clothing himself and purchasing a gown for me are two very different things.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I huff and stand.
Throwing the lid open, I tug out the dress. Just as I expected, it’s hideous, not at all what I’d ever pick for myself. With huge pointy shoulders and a ruffled high neck, it’s like something out of Bram Stoker’sDracula. How befitting. I’ll basically be the living dead if I marry him.
Clutching the ugly thing to my chest, I drop back onto the mattress. If I go through with it, this will be the third wedding dress I’ve worn, and I’m barely twenty-three years old.
An image of me in it, gliding down some aisle toward the very monster who already destroyed me once flitters through my mind. Like Lucy moving in an eerie trance toward Count Dracula and, ultimately, her final death. That will be me. Only, I’m not in a trance, but very much aware of the disaster that’s about to befall me.
Rowan gave me a choice, though in reality, it’s not a choice at all. Of course I’d choose my family. I’d protect them at all costs, even if the price is my freedom.
I believe him when he says he’d burn down Boston. That he’d end both our families to have me. The question is why?
Because you gave yourself to me.The answer comes unheeded. I vowed to be his, and he’s holding me to it, even though he doesn’t love me. Again, why? Is it a pride thing? Did my upcoming marriage to Peter threaten his masculinity somehow? Or is it truly about access to the Duran territory his predecessors weren’t able to get?
Papá will want nothing more than to hang Rowan. But by the time he finds out where Mom and I are, who’s had us this entire time, it will be too late. And that answers the question as to why Rowan would want this to be a real marriage and not just on paper. If I were to get pregnant, my father would definitely hesitate because, above all else, he values family.
I could ask him to kill him anyway. Hell, I could kill him myself, couldn’t I? He certainly deserves it. But if I did, we’d be back at square one. Back at the possible high price that could cost me. My family. In that, I’m just like Papá. Family is the most important thing to me.
Helplessness fills me and I want to scream from the rage that accompanies it. Helpless rage. Useless rage.
Damn Rowan for doing this to me. In all the scenarios I played through my mind of running into him again, it never went like this. I always had the upper hand. It was me who gave him a painful choice to make. He’d lose a part of himself and he’d regret the day he left me waiting for him.
No, more than that. He’d regret the night he saved me from the pool.
I regret that night too. Regret the spark of defiance I felt when Papá allowed my three brothers to go out even before they got their first chest hair but refused to let me out of his sight, and I was already eighteen. I regret that I chose that night to sneak out the window and follow them to the party a few blocks away. And I regret that I hadn’t learned how to swim yet and fell into the pool as I tip-toed through someone’s back yard in my efforts to crash the party next door.
Above all, I regret that it was Rowan who pulled me out of the water, mesmerizing me, stealing my breath. He looked like a guardian angel. The moment our gazes met, I handed him my heart and soul.
I never questioned what he was doing there. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had. He would’ve lied and I would have believed him.
He should have let me drown. It would have been more merciful than this.
Peering down at the dress, I swallow the knot that’s begun to form in my throat. This is happening. He’s not going to leave me waiting this time. I’m going to put this gown on and marry Rowan. Then he’s going to take it off and make me his wife in every way.
