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He also told me to back off because you were his daughter and that you were promised to someone else.
I’d brushed off his concern at the time, too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions he stirred in me.
Oh God. This is really happening. I’m meant to be married. Tonight.
Dread hits me like an icy wave. I lunge for the fruit bowl on the table, barely registering the woman’s startled exclamation as I empty the contents of my stomach—what little there is—right onto the grapes and raspberries.
As I retch, tears streaming down my face, one thought burns through the panic and confusion in my mind: I have to get out of here. Somehow.
The small-boned woman is at my side in an instant, her touch surprisingly gentle as she supports me. She guides me to a chair, then fetches a glass of water from the table. I eye it warily, paranoia and thirst warring within me. My parched throat wins out. I take small sips, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat but doing nothing to calm the storm raging inside me.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar to my own ears. “What’s your name?”
“Mezhen,” she replies, her smile, a mirror to the conflict I feel. “I help you dress now?”
Fighting another bout of nausea, I stare at the wedding dress, wrapping my arms around myself. The cold is seeping into my bones, my teeth chattering audibly.
“I’m not wearing that rubbish.” I stand and walk past Mezhen to the closet, throwing open the door to get my own clothes, stopping in my tracks when I find it’s completely empty. Not even a single sock is in there. Nothing except what the woman is holding.
Suddenly, I get it. This is why they took my clothes, why the room is so frigid. I’m being left with no choice but to put on that dress.
Fury, so intense that it’s almost blinding, fills me.
Fucking bastards.
With trembling hands, I reach for the gown. Mezhen helps me into it, her movements quick but not unkind. The long-sleeved material warms my skin, and the weight of the skirt is oddly grounding. I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror and have to look away. The woman staring back at me is a stranger—pale, wide-eyed, and draped in finery like a lamb dressed for slaughter.
“Mezhen,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady, “where are we?”
She shakes her head, eyes downcast. “Not to say.”
My heart sinks further. “Who am I . . . who am I supposed to marry?”
Again, that sad shake of the head. “Not to say.”
Frustration and fury clench my fists, and I open my mouth, ready to demand answers, when the door swings open.
Benjamin O’Shea strides in, and my breath seizes in my chest. “Daddy?”
This is what I’ve been wanting for so long—a confrontation, a chance to demand answers. But as I take in his flat hazel eyes, the red mop of his receding hair, I find I have nothing to say to this lying piece of shit. The man I once idolized, the father I thought I knew, is a stranger wearing familiar skin.
“Well,” he says in Gaelic, his gaze raking over me with a coldness that chills me to the bone, “don’t you look lovely for a dead woman.”
“How did you find me?” The words tumble out, a child’s question from a woman who should know better.
Benjamin faces Mezhen and jerks his head toward the door, and for a second, I wonder what the point is; I doubt she understands Gaelic.
Mezhen immediately slips out of the room, eyes glinting with an unnamed emotion. I know she’s a servant, but I’m sure the circumstances of her employment are darker than meets the eye.
“I was hoping you’d have a more serious question for me, considering you have very little time to meet your groom.” His casual tone, as if we’re discussing the weather and not my forced marriage, makes me sick to my stomach.
“How on earth can you even think this is okay? How could you do this?”
“Again, wrong questions.” His dismissal ignites a fire in my chest.
“If you think kidnapping me,” I spit, the venom in my voice surprising even me, “and decking me up in some fucked up wedding dress is going to make me willingly marry some cunt and play your sick games, you’ve got the wrong fucking pawn.
He grunts. “Your time with the Italians has generally improved your manners, hasn’t it?”
