Page 27 of Married to the Devil

JUNE

The man parks in the loading bay at the back of the Rotesbury mansion and gets out. I don’t move when he offers a hand.

“Come on. We’re late.”

“Late to what? What are we doing here?” But a piece of me knows. A terrible, awful part gibbers in the back of my mind and the rational slice of my brain has to ignore it; otherwise I’ll finally break.

The man reaches in, drags me from the truck, and throws me over his shoulder. Air gets shoved from my lungs in a whoosh as he carries me in through the unlocked back entrance, along service halls, past familiar decorations, and into the bridal suite.

It’s a large bedroom on the third floor. Big windows overlook Rittenhouse Park. I personally added flowers and rose petals to the bed. Candles surround the vintage vanity. Gifts of wine and champagne are lined up along the sideboard.

I’m thrown onto the mattress like I’m a suitcase.

“Get dressed.” The man turns to leave.

“Wait a second. Please, just wait. Why are we here? What’s happening to me?”

He hesitates at the door then gestures toward the closet. “Put it on. You have ten minutes.”

“You’re related to him, aren’t you? You’re related to Rafe.”

The man flinches. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Should’ve worn fucking contacts,” he mumbles.

“It’s the tattoo also. I noticed it on the ride over.”

He touches the letters on his knuckles. Ashes. “Gloves next time too.”

“Please, why is Rafe doing this? Just tell me what’s going on.”

The man turns. The resemblance is even clearer now. There’s no doubt, he’s a close relative of Rafe’s, probably a brother, though a few years younger. His body’s muscular, his shoulders like battering rams, his nose crooked, his face handsome.

“Rafe’s got his reasons. But I’ll tell you this. Your daughter is safe. Theodora’s taking care of her. And your friend’s on the way to Jefferson Hospital right now. Can’t promise she’ll make it, but we’ll see.”

My guts sink at the thought of Marnie. “Who’s Theodora?”

“A lawyer. She’s alright. Put on the dress, June, and don’t make this hard.”

“Please, I want to see Hattie.”

“For fuck’s sake—“ The man glares at me. “You want to see your daughter? Put on the fucking dress. God damn, I should’ve stayed in the woods.”

He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

I look around in stunned silence.

What the fuck is happening? What the fuck is going on? I’m on the edge of losing my mind. These people have Hattie—they have my daughter—but that man looked just like Rafe.

Am I seriously kidnapped right now?

But no, think, damn it, think. I pace around the room, trying to clear my head. This isn’t some dungeon they threw me in. I’m not trapped at the bottom of a well rubbing lotion into my skin.

This is the wedding Beth and I planned.

Which is honestly weirder.

I stop at the dress. It’s draped over the side of the bed and I don’t remember putting it there.

So where’d it come from?