Chapter 25 Willow
WILLOW
A few days later, I stand in the bedroom of my apartment, staring at myself in the mirror.
This is the last time I’ll be here. The last time I’ll wake up in a bed that’s only my own.
Today is my wedding day.
I try to keep the fear and sadness off my face, but it churns in my chest, making my heart beat hard and fast.
As far as the Voronin brothers know, I’m going to meet them at the designated rendezvous point today, so that we can all try to skip town before Olivia catches us.
I don’t want to give any hint that that’s not what’s gonna happen, just in case Vic is watching through the cameras.
I need them to think the plan is going ahead as scheduled, so that they won’t try to stop me.
It’s the only way.
I drag in a deep breath and square my shoulders, trying to find some courage. What I’m heading toward is terrible, but I don’t have any other choice.
There’s a car stashed behind my apartment building so that I can drive myself to the rendezvous point without being spotted by Olivia’s guard, but instead of heading toward it, I leave the building and march right toward Jerome’s ominous looking SUV.
“Are you ready?” he asks, glancing at his watch.
“Yes.” I nod sharply, then climb into the back.
With every block we drive, my stomach knots itself tighter and tighter.
My fingers are tangled together so tightly that my knuckles turn white, and I have to keep telling myself that I’m doing the right thing.
This is the only way to keep the brothers safe and get them out of Olivia’s clutches. That’s all that matters.
When Jerome drops me off at the church, Olivia is right there waiting for me as I walk up the stairs to the grand entrance. She looks smug and almost proud, giving me a smile that looks slightly genuine for once.
“You’re a smart girl, Willow,” she says, nodding. “I’m glad you accepted my offer. You know how to play the game, and that will serve you well. And in the end, this marriage will be the best thing for you. You’re going to have a life that’s better than anything those men could have given you.”
I bite my tongue so that I won’t blurt out what I’m actually thinking, but it’s so ridiculous that she still thinks, even now, that I should be grateful for this. That the chance to marry into the wealth and power of the Copeland family is more important than anything else.
My fingers twitch, wanting to curl into fists, but I force them to stay loose at my sides. I hate this woman so much. Now more than ever.
She’s taken so much from me, and she still has the nerve to pretend like she’s giving me something. That this is for my own good and I’ll realize that one day.
“I just want to get this over with,” I tell her, my tone cool. It’s the best I can do to hold my temper and not lash out at her.
Everything has to go smoothly today, or it won’t matter what I’m giving up.
Olivia’s eyes skate over my face, as if looking for a sign that I’m lying or ready to run. Whatever she sees must be good enough, because she nods and then leads me to the back where I can get ready, leaving me in a little room by myself.
My wedding dress is hanging from a hook on the wall, an elegant and expensive testament to the life I’m condemning myself to now. It’s perfectly tailored to me, and I hate the sight of it.
The woman my grandmother hired to help get me ready arrives a few minutes later.
“Are you ready?” she asks, knocking on the door as she opens it.
“Yes,” I say dully.
She holds out the dress so I can step into it, lacing up the bodice and arranging the fabric before beaming at me.
“Oh my goodness, you look absolutely beautiful,” she coos.
I nod, but I don’t even glance at my reflection.
She sits me down in her chair and starts in on my hair and makeup, and we don’t talk. Her sunny demeanor fades a little, and it’s all silent and businesslike, with none of the excitement and happiness that should go along with a wedding.
All I feel is dread, and either the stylist can pick up on that or Olivia has trained her not to ask questions, because she works quickly and efficiently and then steps back, declaring me ready.
I finally look in the mirror, and I barely even recognize myself. My hair is overdone, and the makeup is understated, but I don’t look like myself. My eyes are flat and dull, and there’s no smile on my painted lips.
I can’t even enjoy the fact that the dress hugs my curves perfectly, showing off a tasteful amount of cleavage before trailing down to the floor in a short train. Faceted beads catch the light around the bodice, just enough to draw the eye, but not so much as to be gaudy.
On any other occasion, this dress would make me feel like a princess.
Now I just feel like a prisoner.
The engagement ring I’ve been wearing has been removed and is sitting in a little dish on the vanity, but my hand doesn’t feel any lighter without it—because I know it will be replaced by something much worse soon.
A wedding ring.
My mind wanders to the guys, and my heart and stomach clench at the same time. Surely they’ve realized by now that I’m not coming. It’s past the time we were supposed to meet. Have they texted or called?
I don’t move to check my phone. I don’t want to know.
Well, I do. But I’m afraid that if I check, my resolve will crumble.
Once the stylist slips away, I pace the room alone, curling my fingers into fists and releasing them, trying to focus on breathing and not freaking out. A glance at the clock tells me it’s almost time for the wedding to start, and I wait for Olivia to come get me and drag me into my new life.
The door opens, and I draw in a breath—then let it out in a rush when I see that it’s not Olivia, but Troy.
He shoots me a lascivious grin, and as he moves closer, I can smell booze on his breath.
“It’s the big day, wifey,” he drawls, leering at me. “I just came to see if you’re up to snuff.”
“I’m sure I am,” I mutter. “Everything I’m wearing is Olivia approved.”
“Yeah, but she’s not the one you need to impress anymore, is she?” He arches an eyebrow, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I’m the one you’ll need to please, starting today. And I should warn you, I can be a little… exacting.”
He walks around in a circle as he speaks, taking me in the way he did when he ‘evaluated’ me back at Olivia’s house.
His eyes are everywhere, examining my hair and makeup and the way the dress shows off my body.
He leans in and trails a hand over my hip, then up to my chest, where he squeezes my breast hard.
Pain shoots through me, and I clench my jaw, my stomach churning with anger and disgust.
“Yeah, I guess you’ll do.” He shrugs idly, squeezing harder.
“You know, some of my friends think I’m a fool for agreeing to this.
Your grandma is a bit of a has-been, but her husband was once a major figure in our world.
You, though? We all know you’re nothing.
You’re just a piece of trash she plucked out of a dumpster and shined up a little. ”
I swallow hard, biting back the urge to spit in his face or slap him. I never wanted to be forced into any marriage, but why the hell did it have to be this monster?
“But I know it’ll be worth it,” Troy continues, giving my breast another vicious squeeze. “The daughter of a whore will fuck like a porn star. Those guys are all just jealous because I’m going to be getting my dick wet every night, while they’ll be lying next to their cold, frigid wives.”
He leans in closer, his breath hot on my face.
“You try to act like you’re some good little girl,” he says, a taunting edge to his voice.
“But don’t forget, I know what you did at our engagement party.
I know you let one of those men fuck you upstairs.
What did you let him do, huh? Did he bend you over?
Hike your dress up and go to town on that dirty pussy of yours?
Did he fuck you in the ass? You look like a bitch who likes it in the ass. ”
He shoves me back against the wall and presses up against me, sliding his hands beneath the fabric of the bodice of the dress. His fingers skate over my breasts, brushing my nipples, and nausea churns in my stomach
“Stop it,” I hiss. “Not now.”
“Not now,” he mocks, putting on a high, feminine voice. “I bet that’s not what you said to your gutter trash boyfriend. I bet you begged him for more.”
His hands start roaming again, and he paws at my dress like he’s looking for the zipper or a slit to get his hands in.
“Doesn’t seem fair that some random asshole gets to fuck you and I haven’t yet,” he slurs.
“Maybe I should just sample you right now. So I can make sure I’m getting my money’s worth. ”
Troy leans in, smashing his lips against mine in a forceful kiss. I fight against it, but he grabs my wrist with one hand, forcing it above my head and pinning it to the wall. His other hand starts groping me through the dress, finding its way down between my legs to cup my pussy.
Anger and panic surge through me, and when he tries to shove his tongue into my mouth, I bite down on it—hard.
He rears back, eyes flashing, and his fingers tighten on my wrist hard enough to bruise.
“We’re not married yet,” I warn him, panting for breath. “So unless you want to walk down the aisle with a bloody nose, you’d better stop.”
His eyes narrow, his mouth hanging open a little as his hot breath gusts over my face. Then he grabs my chest one more time, groping me cruelly before he pushes away and steps back. His face twists into a sneer as he looks at me.
“You just bought yourself an extra hour, bitch,” he says. “Once you’ve got my ring on your finger, I’m looking forward to breaking you. I’ll make you bleed even though you’re not a virgin.”
There’s a soft knock, and then the door opens. Troy doesn’t look away from me as a woman I don’t recognize pokes her head in.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Stanton said…” She trails off, glancing between us nervously. “Um, it’s time to start.”
“Huh. Maybe it’ll be even less than an hour.”
With that, Troy spits in my face and then walks out, slamming the door behind him.
I sag against the wall for a second, wiping my face clean with a shaking hand. It’s harder to find my courage now, but I force myself to drag in a deep breath and then follow him.