17. Seventeen #3
When the door closed, Arrow circled me slowly, his eyes tracking every inch of lace and skin.
“You’re making a scene,” he said quietly.
“And you’re making decisions about my body without my consent,” I countered.
He stopped behind me, his breath warm against my bare shoulder. “Your consent was given the moment you accepted this arrangement.”
“I never accepted anything. I was sold.”
His fingers traced the lace pattern down my spine—soft, but firm enough that I couldn’t ignore the touch.
“And yet here you stand, wearing my collar, trying on dresses for our wedding.”
I whirled away from his touch, nearly tripping on the dress’s hem. “Don’t touch me.”
“You didn’t mind my touch two nights ago,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
Heat flooded my face as the memory crashed through me. His fingers inside me, and my body betraying me as I came apart on his table. I hated him for bringing it up.
“That was a mistake,” I said through gritted teeth.
His laugh was cold. “Was it? Your body seemed quite certain.”
I faced him, chin up, refusing to be intimidated. “You can force me to marry you. You can force me to wear this dress. But you can’t force me to want you.”
“I don’t need to force that particular issue, Harlowe. Your body does the wanting for you.”
“My body doesn’t know any better.”
“And what about your mind?” He stepped closer, backing me against the mirror. “What does it want?”
“Freedom,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat.
There was a subtle change in his expression, like watching a predator recalculate its approach.
“Freedom is an illusion,” he said. “No one is truly free. Not me. Not you. Not even the richest man in Manhattan.”
“That’s what captors tell their prisoners to make them feel better about the bars. And it’s especially what men like you say to justify keeping women like me in cages.”
His jaw tightened. “A cage?”
“What would you call it?” I gestured around us. “I’m being forced to marry a man I hate, wearing a dress I don’t want, living in a house that isn’t mine, all because of a deal made on my behalf.”
Arrow’s eyes darkened to midnight. “You think I wanted this any more than you did? That I woke up one day and thought, ‘I’d like to marry a spoiled Virelli princess with a death wish’?”
“Then why are you doing this?” I demanded. “Why not just kill me like your family killed my brother, then take my father’s empire from him? It’s not like it’d be difficult for a Romanov to take something that wasn’t theirs to begin with.”
“Maybe I should. You’re worth more dead than alive.”
I felt the air leave my lungs. “Then do it. Fucking do it, Arrow. Kill me right now if that’s what you want.”
Hands shot out—gripping my upper arms—and he backed me into the mirror with such force that it rattled against the wall.
The glass was cold against my back as he pressed me into it, his face inches from mine, eyes blazing with fury I hadn’t seen before. His grip tightened on my arms, not enough to bruise but enough to make me acutely aware of every point of contact between us.
“Is that what you want?” he growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. “For me to end this right now?”
I lifted my chin, refusing to cower. “It would be more honest than whatever this is.”
His thumb traced small circles on my bare skin where he held me. “I could have killed you a hundred times over by now, Harlowe.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I could have left you for your father and his enemies to finish. I could have let you destroy yourself at that club. But I didn’t.”
“Why?” I demanded, hating how my voice cracked.
His eyes traveled to the collar at my throat, then back to my face. “Because some things are worth more intact.”
“Like what? My family’s connections? My father’s territory?”
Arrow’s laugh was harsh. “Your father’s territory is worthless. His connections are dying out. The Virellis are a sinking ship, and everyone knows it.”
The truth of his words stung more than I wanted to admit. “Then why—”
“Because I want you,” he said simply. “Not just your body. I want what you fight so hard to keep hidden.” His grip softened, but he didn’t let me go. “I want the woman who stares death in the face and laughs. Who would rather burn the world down than show weakness.”
His words slithered under my skin, finding all the broken places inside me that hungered to be seen. I hated him for it—for seeing through me so completely.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know you better than you know yourself.” His thumb traced the line of my jaw, tilting my face up to his. “I know that beneath all that anger and spite is a woman desperate to surrender, but only to someone strong enough to handle what comes after.”
“And you think that’s you?” I tried to make it sound mocking, but my voice betrayed me, coming out breathless.
“I know it’s me.” The certainty in his voice made something inside me tremble. “No one else would survive you.”
Before I could respond, he stepped back, breaking contact so suddenly I almost stumbled forward. The cool air rushed between us, and I felt oddly bereft without his heat.
“You’ll wear the dress,” he said, his voice returning to that controlled, emotionless tone. “Because it’s beautiful, and because when you walk down that aisle, I want everyone to see exactly what I’m claiming.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I was in the delicate lace. “I’m not a thing to be claimed.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re not a thing. You’re a force of nature that needs to be channeled before it destroys everything around it. Including itself.”
I glared at him. “Your metaphors need work.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “And your resistance is futile.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll tell Mrs. Montalto we’ve made our decision. You have five minutes to compose yourself.”
“Wait,” I called before he could leave. He paused, hand on the doorknob. “Why the collar? Why make me wear it in public like this?”
He turned back, studying me with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see through flesh and bone.
“I want the world to see that even Harlowe Virelli has someone she answers to.”
“And the soul trap? You really believe that bullshit?”
“I believe that some people carry enough darkness inside them to swallow worlds. And sometimes, they need something to hold it in place.”