I decide to wear the blue satin and cream lace set. There’s a bra and matching thong, along with cream-colored thigh-high stockings with little fleurs-de-lis stitched in. It’s definitely the prettiest underwear I’ve ever worn. I want to pretend like there’s some other reason I’m doing this, like I’m just trying to appease my kidnapper, or maybe make sure no one questions the gift. The truth is that I want to look beautiful on my wedding night, no matter that it’s fake. I want to look sexy for Giovanni, no matter how dark he’s turned.
Only when I’m fully showered and shaved and dressed do I realize there’s no robe. I find an old tie-dye pink robe in the back of my closet but decide that ruins the effect. And I feel too vulnerable standing in the middle of the room in underwear.
I turn off the lights and slide under the covers.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach, but I’ve decided not to fight Giovanni. He proved in the conservatory that he can make this good for me—better than I thought possible. I know it’s going to happen anyway. So I’ll lie here and look pretty and let him have his way. If I’m lucky, I’ll get an orgasm or two out of the night.
That will be the end, because he told me it would be my choice after the marriage is consummated.
It will be almost a full week until Honor comes and rescues me. It’s Sunday now, which means I have six days to get through. I’m a little surprised she’s set the timeline for so long, but I’m sure it takes considerable effort to plan an escape with this kind of security.
So I’ll wait and endure.
This is the very reasonable, logical, almost safe plan that I come up with between the time Maria leaves and the seconds in the dark when I hear the lock turn. Except my heart is racing faster than a shooting star. My palms are sweaty, my skin tight and hot. I regret not having sex with Shane or any of the college boys who would have happily, drunkenly hooked up—so at least I would have done this before. Instead I’m having a silent mental breakdown in the dark.
The door swings open, the faint light from the hallway obscenely bright. Giovanni darkens to pure shadow, moving without sound, with all the grace and danger of a panther.
He doesn’t approach the bed. Instead he finds the vanity with ease, flicking on the lamp with a small click. His tux has rumpled since the ceremony, the jacket missing, shirtsleeves rolled up. His eyes are hooded with some emotion that makes me shiver.
“Clara.”
I sit up, holding the sheet to shield my breasts. “I’m ready,” I lie with all the sincerity I can muster. It sounds pretty convincing if you ignore the tremor in my voice. “You can do what you need to do, and I won’t fight you.”
“I see.”
“Right, so…you can turn off the light now.”
He turns away, and I see the flash of a smile. He finds this amusing? That’s horrifying on multiple levels. When he turns back, his expression is serious. “Let’s go.”
“Um, what?”
“I’m not taking you here. We’ll go to my room.”
“Oh.” Crap. Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe it is a little weird to have sex on my childhood bed, even if it is big enough. Then again, having sex in the master bedroom—the place where my father slept—is actually weirder. And oh God, what if he didn’t change the furniture in there either? “I’m not exactly dressed.”
There’s a pause, and when he speaks, his voice has lowered. “You’re naked?”
Almost. “Juliette got us a present.”
“I heard about that. I didn’t think you’d wear it.”
“Well, like I said. I’m just being practical about the whole thing.”
“Ah.” Now he’s definitely holding back a laugh. “Practical.”
My cheeks heat. “I can’t believe you’re smiling right now.”
His smile fades a little, leaving him looking thoughtful. “You do have a way of making me smile when I least expect it. But we’re definitely leaving this room. No one’s in the hallway. No one will see you.”
He sent Romero away? That’s some relief. “You’ll see me.”
“But you’re being practical about that,” he reminds me.
Damn him. Keeping my head held high, I push the sheets off and stand up beside the bed. His gaze drifts over my body, eyes molten, jaw tight. It’s a struggle not to cover my breasts or put a hand between my legs. There’s fabric covering me, but it’s thin and designed to show more than it hides. A blush spreads from the center of my chest, pinkening the slopes of my breasts, spreading up my neck.
I take a deep breath and one step forward. Then another.