I unbuttoned the shirt and peeled it off as I crossed the room to the locked door.
“Bayron?” I added an impatient knock and waited with my arms crossed over my tank-clad chest.
“Yes, miss?”
“I’m in need of a shower.”
“As predicted,” his wry voice drawled. Keys jingled in the lock and my eyebrows lifted with surprise when not only he stood waiting, but also a woman.
“This is Zandie. She will escort you into the bathroom.”
“And you?”
“Right outside.”
I growled, hating being so strictly monitored. “Fine. Lead the way, Zandie.”
~*~
The following morning brought a sense of dread, and breakfast didn’t sit right in my gut. I felt off. Brain fog refused to clear and left me with grainy images of Zandie’s dark complexion and caring eyes as she fussed over my hair, braiding the length for what seemed to take the longest time.
The worst part? I didn’t have it in me to resist. Usual warnings in my head seemed dulled and void of urgency.
After another two coffees and lunch at midday, I was giddy and restless, distant and spaced. I blinked heavily to combat the spinning room and swayed despite sitting propped against the headboard with pillows either side of me.
Zandie looked me over once more. “Are you all right, miss?”
“I don’t feel good. What was in the coffee?”
She shook her head. “Sugar, as you requested.”
I snagged her wrist and gripped hard. “Have I been drugged?”
Her dark irises bore into mine without blinking. “No, miss.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“And that doesn’t matter. You need to get up. C’mon, miss. Up.”
“No.”
“You must.”
I sighed. “Why?”
Her dark eyebrows lifted. “It’s your wedding day.”
A bolt of clarity hit and brought back my usual alertness. “No. That’s tomorrow.” I shook my head to fight against the returning fog.
“It is today. You slept all day yesterday, and today you’re awake.” She left my side briefly and returned with another woman, who carried a large white gown. “This is Elizabeth. She’ll help you dress.”
I gripped the sheets. “I’m not dressing.”
“Johannes’s orders,” Zandie murmured, trying to coax me out of bed.
“I don’t care whose orders they are—I’m. Not. Dressing.”
The effort of keeping up resistance was exhausting. It wore me down and left me spent.