Vittoria
He will let us go. I have to hold on to that. It’s a scrap, but I’ll take it. The glimpse of Emma’s face beside Bastian’s was startling. He’d caught her just as she’d turned her shadowed eyes to the camera, awe and fear making them wide. Making the shadows that she’s too young to bear darker.
I stand just inside Amadeo’s bedroom in the Ravello house. After the ceremony and the signing away of my life, a helicopter came to carry Amadeo and me here. He instructed Oaf to take me to his bedroom and disappeared into another part of the house to deal with a call.
Emma is on her way. I have to focus on that. She’s on a flight now with Hyacinth. They got her without having to hurt anyone. Although Amadeo was vague about that part.
I’m so grateful Hyacinth is with her. She’ll be able to soothe her at least. Although the poor woman must be terrified herself. She is the live-in nanny my father hired to look after Emma once Mom died. She’s in her early fifties and like a young grandmother to Emma.
I look around, then go into the bathroom to wash my face. His room is luxurious. A master suite bigger and more opulent than I’ve ever seen. The bedroom is decorated tastefully with antique furnishings and modern comforts, and an unbelievable view into the horizon that is disturbed only by the magenta of bougainvillea that clings to the banister on the balcony.
The bathroom is all marble and glass, twice the size of any at our penthouse. I splash water on my face now and pat it dry as I take myself in on this, my wedding day. I don’t make a beautiful bride with my uncombed hair, the waves unbound and wild down my back, shadows beneath my eyes, and my skin drawn and paler than is natural. I’ve lost a few pounds since the funeral. Since before it. And it shows on my face.
But it doesn’t matter. Emma will be with me in a matter of hours.
I hear the bedroom door open and Amadeo’s voice as he relieves Oaf of the duty of guarding me. When the bedroom door clicks closed, I open the one to the bathroom and stand in the frame. I look at my husband.
He’s wearing slacks and a button-down shirt with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. I see that tattoo. Dandelions. He has remembered that small detail for all these years. A significant enough detail for him to tattoo it into his skin. I was their mark when I was only five years old. They always meant to take me, use me to make my family pay. He finishes what he was doing on his phone and tucks it into his pocket. My heartbeat picks up when his eyes meet mine.
“How long until they’re here?” I ask, avoiding what this night is. What has to happen.
“Not long.”
“You said I could FaceTime with her.”
“She’s asleep.” He takes out his phone, walks toward me, and shows me the screen. I read the exchange between him and his brother. Amadeo asking how it’s going. Bastian saying fine, that she’s been quiet, which I knew she would be, and that Emma has finally fallen asleep.
I’m disappointed, but I have to accept it. It’s just a few more hours.
“Will they come here? Or will we go to the Naples house?”
“Here.”
I nod, thinking about the promise he made at the church. It surprised me that he made it at all. I don’t know what I expected. But then his vow rings in my ears. Until death do us part. My death? He could have easily lied about letting Emma and I go to get me to sign the papers. He could have forced my signature. Since I signed those papers, all he really needs is to keep me alive until I turn twenty-one. Just a few more days. He’ll need to show proof of life, but after, it won’t matter. It’s not like anyone will speak out to help me then.
But I have to believe he will keep his word. I have no choice. It’s the only way to remain sane.
He steps toward the table set near one of the windows where a bottle of champagne sits in a silver bucket filled with ice, along with a half-full bottle of whiskey beside it. The champagne has been freshly placed. He pops the cork, and I watch the liquid bubble over the side as he pours two glasses. Does he really think we’re doing this? Celebrating this?
He carries both glasses toward me and holds one out.
“To my beautiful bride.” Is that mockery in his voice? Anything I saw in his eyes earlier is gone. I watch as he swallows the contents of one glass.
I snort. “You mean your forced bride.” We’re firmly back on our separate sides of this boxing ring. I wonder if he needs to do this to be able to continue. If he needs to see me as an enemy, an enemy and a pawn, to do what he is going to do. What needs to happen.
“You are beautiful,” he says as he looks at me closely. I feel myself flush. He must see it because he smiles. “Drink it.”
“No, thank you. I’m tired.”
“Already,” he says. “That does not bode well for a long marriage, considering it’s our wedding night.” I watch him down the contents of the second glass before setting both aside and looking me over, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Get undressed.”
“Déjà vu.”
He steps toward me, amusement brightening his eyes. “Nah. Last time was to search you. Tonight is to fuck you.” Heat flushes through me at his crude words. I should be offended, but when he lifts the hair off my shoulders, letting it fall between his fingers almost fondly and sets it back, it’s not offense I feel. My lips swell with an ache to be bruised by his, and my body remembers the touch of his hands on me. The promise he made to finish what he started.
“If you want to get off, you’re going to have to use your hand tonight. I’m not sleeping with you.” I say it with more force than I feel and move to step away, but he captures my arm and tugs me back.
“You want it as much as I do, Dandelion. Don’t lie to yourself. Never lie to yourself. That’s another life lesson from me. You’re welcome.”