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“I know. I don’t really get why he bought it for me, though.” I look down at it, trying not to be overly touched by how beautiful it is. How absolutely perfect, as if he knew exactly what I’d like.
As if he’s been paying attention to me, careful attention, this whole time.
Clara snorts. “I do. He doesn’t want this to feel like just another one of those garbage arranged marriages. He wants you to feel like this is real.”
“But it’s not.” My hand drops into my lap, and I feel my chest tighten. “None of it is real.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I look at Clara on the small screen, startled. “What do you mean?”
“Honestly, Bel?” She shakes her head. “Honestly, I think this always would have happened. I think Gabriel is in love with you—that he has been for a while, and he’s using the danger you’re in as an excuse to marry you. And honestly—I don’t know if that’s reprehensible or really romantic. Maybe a little of both.”
I stare at her for a long moment. “He’s not in love with me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I bite my lip, my heart jolting in my chest as I think back over my interactions with Gabriel. How careful he’s always been with me. Gentle, slow, until recently. Ever since we’ve been here, every physical interaction we’ve had has felt tinged with desperation. As if he’s terrified that we might not get another moment together, as if he’s afraid that he’s going to lose me.
But that doesn’t mean he loves me.
“I’m going to look for a wedding dress tomorrow.” I change the subject, hoping that Clara will catch on and not go back to the topic of whether or not Gabriel loves me. “I’ll send you pictures of what I find.”
“You better.” She grins at me. “I’ll be at work, but I’ll have my phone on me.” Her face falls a little then, sadness briefly washing over her face. “I wish I could be there with you.”
“Me, too,” I say quietly. “But it’s probably safer that you’re not. Just—be careful at home, too. Keep an eye out. I don’t think Igor knows anything about you, but you should probably be careful. Just in case.”
“I will,” Clara promises. “Try to have fun tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” I force a smile, but inwardly, I don’t know if that’s going to be a promise I can keep.
—
In the morning, it becomes clear that Gabriel has broken the news to Cecelia and Danny. Their faces light up when I walk into the dining room, Cecelia glowing as if it’s Christmas morning. It just makes me feel that much worse, knowing that this is all for reasons they don’t know. That Gabriel is lying to them about why all of this is happening.
I understand it. I get that he doesn’t want them to be terrified the entire time we’re here, that he wants them to feel that we’ve escaped Igor’s threat by coming here. They’re children—it’s the right thing to do.
But it also feels bad to lie about something so important.
“Dad said you’re getting married,” Cecelia breathes. “Are you going to have a wedding dress?” Her eyes practically sparkle as she says it, her gaze immediately landing on my ring finger. “Oh.”
I remember being that age. I was never as interested in rings and dresses as Cecelia is, considering the fact that by then, I’d grasped that marriage was going to be something chosen for me, not by me. But I can relate to her excitement. “Your father did a good job, picking it out.” I smile as I sink down at the table, not looking at Agnes or Aldo. I know Agnes will be able to read my face in an instant, and if I look at hers, I know I’m going to have a hard time keeping up pretenses.
“I’m going to go find a wedding dress today,” I tell Cecelia, and her eyes go round.
“Can I go too?” she exclaims, looking at Gabriel. “Dad, can I go?”
He shrugs, looking at me. “That’s up to Bella.”
“Bella?” Cecelia’s voice has taken on a pleading tone. Next to her, I see Danny roll his eyes, stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork.
“Of course,” I tell her. I feel guilty perpetuating this story of a fairytale marriage between Gabriel and me, but I also can’t bear to see her disappointment if I tell her no. “Agnes, do you want to come, too?”
I look over at her then, and there’s a knowing look on her face, as if she’s aware of something that neither Gabriel nor I are. “I’d like that,” she says finally, setting down her fork. Across from her, Aldo chuckles under his breath.
I let out a sharp breath. When I look at Gabriel, he shrugs. His expression is faraway, like it was before he told me his plan for all of this. As if he’s mulling something over.
After breakfast, I go upstairs and change into the same yellow maxi dress that I wore the last time we went into town. Too late, I remember what else happened that same day, and I grip the skirt in my hand, wondering if I’ll ever be able to look at it again without remembering Gabriel pressed against me, pinning me to the bookshelves, sending waves of pleasure washing over me as he made me come by doing nothing other than moving against me.
