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What would it be like to be free.
To be outside of the looming shadow of my father, to be unencumbered and untethered to the demands of the family. To be swallowed into the depths of this room, drain down through the floor, and disappear into the woods?
Stop it, Kate Paisley, I chide myself, using my full name as my mom would in this situation. You’re a Bachman, through and through. You love the Hamlet. You’d do anything for this family. And you will. Your marriage will solidify the family’s connections to the Russos of Italy.
I’d never, ever decide against my family’s wishes.
And why, Kate Paisley, should you get to decide who you will marry when Pippa doesn’t even get to be here tonight?
Pain clamps my heart like a vise. I need to get out of here. My feet, pinched in my red-bottomed Louboutins, long for the flexibility of my sneakers, the softness of the forest floor. My cheeks, heated from all the eyes burning into my face, want the cool night air whipping across my skin as I run through the dark quiet of the trees.
I want to escape. Go to my room. Grab my bag and run to the Pit for the very last time. But I know I can’t. Not until after the announcement is made. My mom may have caught me last night, delaying my escape, but I know one thing for sure… I’m going tonight. It’s my last visit, my last chance.
The last time I’ll allow myself to go.
Speaking of Mom… here she comes, rushing into the ballroom, looking flustered.
My mom grabs me, her blue eyes flashing with worry. “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?”
“I’ve been looking for my cupcakes.” I glance over her shoulder thinking maybe someone rolled out a cart of desserts.
“Cupcakes?” She looks at me curiously. “We’ve got more important things to focus on other than sweets. Like Dad’s big announcement.”
My stomach drops. Everyone’s eyes will be on me for my father’s lengthy, tear-filled speech. More public attention. “Is it really already time for that nonsense?”
“Nonsense?” My mother’s heavily mascaraed lashes blink. Twice. “It’s your future we’re talking about.”
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean the announcement. I just meant all those people staring at me…”
“Yes, there will be people. Lots of them. And you’ll be happy to know—well, hopefully happy to know—Dad and I met with him last night in the library and he agreed. Savage, I mean Paolo, said yes.”
Savage? My head feels hazy, cloudy from impending anxiety about the upcoming attention on me. “To what?”
“To being your bodyguard.” She shakes her head. “You know this, we’ve been over it a hundred times that he was the man Dad chose to ask to head up security and be your personal bodyguard for your trip. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now, he’s going to escort you on your trip. Savage?—”
“Savage…”
She grabs my shoulders, her nails lightly digging into my skin as she searches my face. “Paisley, you know this. You’ve known we were going to ask him?—”
“Of course, I know this. I had a momentary brain fog,” I reassure her. I think it just hit me that I’ll be travelling with this gorgeous stranger, in close proximity, for the next few weeks. I shrug her off. “Yeah, I know, Mom. It’s just, talking about the trip coming up and him being there is different from being in the same room as him and knowing we’re going to be travel buddies.”
She gives me a funny look. “You puzzle me, sweetheart. You’re a funny kid sometimes. And…there are no cupcakes. You know that, right? Mary?—”
“I know.” I shake my head, hoping she’ll let it go.
She does.
I turn my attention to Savage. The massive man with the cocky grin on his face and the tattoo. The one who has a reputation for visiting kink clubs for fun. This is the man who’s supposed to be my… bodyguard?
Right by my side for weeks?
My poor little virgin brain just about implodes as I imagine all the things this big, powerful man could do to my poor little quivering body.
My imagination runs wild. Whips. Chains. Orgasm denial. Just because I don’t have firsthand experience doesn’t mean the space underneath my bed isn’t stuffed with the romance novels my mom has read and discarded.
When I found them, I called her out.
“You’re married,” I said, holding up a book with a cover of a half-naked man baring his chesticles to us.
