Page 9
I continue my walk down the hallway to the elevator, my feet hitting the floor harder with each step I take. Even though the display above the elevator says G, which I assume is for garage, I push the button.
Yep, the elevator isn’t here. As I stand in front of the elevator in nothing but my black lace and bare feet, I let it land. He left. He. Fucking. Left.
The realization carries weight I wasn’t prepared for. Not because I wanted him here—I’m not that foolish, not that desperate for his company specifically. But because this is the second time today a DeLuca man has abandoned me.
Paolo at the altar, choosing to walk away from a marriage he’d never wanted. And now Domenico, hours after marrying me in his son’s place, stepping out of his own home without a word about where he’s going or when he’ll return.
It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the unreliable tree.
As I spin and walk back to the bedroom, I swear I see movement out of the corner of my eye. “Hello?” I call out. “Is anyone there?”
A tall and broad red-headed man moves toward me with a lazy grin. “Hello there, kitten. Are you lost?”
“Who are you?” I gasp, taking a step backward.
“I’m much more interested in who you are.” He grins. “Are you one of the Don’s whores? Because if you are, you should know he often lets us have his leftovers.”
Letting out a small scream, I turn and sprint back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My heart hammers against its cage as I anxiously pace the length of the bedroom over and over and over again.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Will he… am I going to have to…
No, I can’t dwell on that. I need to be strong. I need this marriage, and I need it consummated.
That means I need to be practical. Before the accident, Mom always told me, “You assess the situation, you identify what you can control, and you act accordingly.”
What I can control: my location, my appearance, my readiness.
What I can’t control: his return, his desire, his decision about whether this marriage meets whatever standard he holds. And apparently, whether or not he’s going to share me with his men.
No, that last one I will control. I refuse to let that happen.
I climb onto the mattress and position myself carefully—legs crossed at the ankles, one arm resting along my thigh, hair arranged over my shoulder. The pose feels both ridiculous and necessary, vulnerable and calculated.
How I wish there was a clock on the nightstand. Or that I still had my phone. Anything to know how much time passes. Because it feels like hours already, but I’m pretty sure it’s only been minutes.
Trying to distract my mind, I ponder how long I can maintain this posture, how long before my muscles cramp or my eyes grow heavy.
No, I won’t fall asleep. That’s the decision I make, staring at the door, waiting for the sound of his return. I will be awake. I will be ready. I will seduce my husband whenever he deigns to come home, and I will make sure he has no reason to, well, kill me like he did his former wife.
I shift my weight and feel the lace adjust across my skin. The clasp beneath my breasts digs slightly, a constant reminder of what I’m wearing and why. I imagine Domenico’s face when he sees me, trying to predict his reaction.
Will he be pleased? Annoyed? Will he understand the calculation behind this display, or will he mistake it for genuine desire?
The thought makes me want to laugh, but I swallow the sound. There’s nothing funny about any of this. I’m waiting in lingerie like an offering on an altar, hoping the pagan god I’ve been sold to finds me worthy.
My eyes burn. I blink rapidly and refocus on the door. I won’t cry.
I’ve shifted positions three times, trying to find comfort without abandoning the pose entirely. My neck aches from holding my head at an angle that looks alluring rather than practical.
I think about getting up, about finding the clothes in my suitcase and dressing like a normal person, about crawling under the covers and pretending I’m anywhere but here. But my dad’s voice won’t let me.
“You better fuck him, Kira. You better make sure he wants to keep you.”
So, I stay where I am, stay awake, and keep watching the door.
After what feels like an eternity, my head dips forward, and I catch myself, spine straightening with a snap that sends pain through my shoulders. I adjust the pillows behind me, propping myself higher, creating a backrest that will keep me upright.
“I won’t fall asleep.” I repeat the words to myself like a prayer, like the vows I spoke today that meant nothing and everything.
