Chapter 17
KARINA
“Bring her to me!” my uncle’s voice thunders from somewhere deep inside the house.
Someone grabs my arm the moment I close the front door behind me. Pulling back on instinct, I quickly recognize Terk, my uncle’s personal assistant, and go still. The man is three times my size and mean to boot.
The scent of Uncle Sergio’s cigar follows his booming words down the hall. Every remnant of my evening with Marco washes away as the tide of my family’s consolidated anger and disappointment rolls over me when Terk pushes me into the den.
Stumbling forward, I quickly right myself and lock eyes with my mother.
She turns away, her chin lifting in the air.
My father stands off to the side, his body tense, studying Sergio’s face and not acknowledging me in the least—per usual.
Sergio himself sits in the center of the plush leather sofa, a fat cigar between his lips.
His glasses are darkened the way they do in the sun, and it takes a second to realize he’s wearing actual sunglasses even though it’s dim inside the house.
“Leave us,” he commands.
My mother hurries out, followed by Terk.
My father, though, is slower to depart. He drags his steps alongside me, giving me the barest warning glance before picking up speed and walking out, shutting the double doors behind him.
His silent message was clear: don’t you dare fuck this up any more than you already have.
Merc was right. I’m about to be tied to the burning stake.
“Where. Have. You. Been,” Uncle Sergio asks, his voice deadly calm.
He taps ash off the end of the cigar into the brass tray of his art deco smoking stand that sits beside the couch.
A twirl of foul smoke rises up and quickly fizzles out.
There’s no way that I can talk myself out of this.
He already knows I wasn’t with the wedding planner or none of this would be going down right now.
But if Mercutio didn’t betray me, how did Sergio find out?
“I was out,” I tell him, trying to sound innocent. Even though I know it’s pointless. Even though I know it’s only going to make him more angry.
“With. Whom?”
“A friend.”
A spot of color across the room draws my attention and my stomach drops. It’s my contraband red dress, the one I wore for Marco after hiding it in my closet for eight years. They went through my room again, but more thoroughly this time. What else did they find?
I mentally run though the catalog of anything else I had hidden in my room, but there wasn’t anything else, just the dress and my—
There it is. Laying there beside the dress. My e-reader, full of forbidden romance books.
That’s when I finally notice the cardboard boxes, lined up in a row with the tops open.
A few are filled with my lovely antique books and first editions, all tossed inside like worthless trash.
Another is piled high with my clothing, and yet another with miscellaneous decorative items I had neatly tucked around my space. They cleaned out my room!
“Karina Rossi, it seems you’ve made a fool of me in my own home. This marriage to Pietro Manzo is of the highest importance to this family, yet you disregard it to sneak around with another man. Now, I’ll ask you one last time and you will answer me. Who is he?”
This is bad. Really bad.
Not even because I’m a Bruno and my lover is a Bellanti—which I’ll tell my uncle—but because even if my family doesn’t know who I’m seeing, they know I’m seeing someone. Someone who isn’t Pietro.
Inside, I’m screaming his name in defiance: Marco Bellanti. Racing phenom. Bellanti Vineyards heir. Millionaire. But more importantly, master of his own destiny.
Outside, I hang my head in shame and stare at the floor.
“I only know his first name…Antonio,” I murmur, hoping I sound merely guilty and not flat-out deceitful. “I don’t know him that well. It was just some harmless fun.”
Sergio bellows a string of curses in Italian as I swallow my heart back into my chest. He’s never going to fall for this.
“The wedding planner called your mother this evening to ask some questions. Questions that would have been unnecessary had you been meeting with her as you said you were.” He gets up from the couch and snuffs the cigar out, then storms toward me.
“But you were ‘out,’ as you said. With this…Antonio. He is not your friend, Karina. He is a dead man.”
I blink back my very real tears and wait for the formal inquisition to begin, but instead, my uncle stalks over to the pile of my things stacked against the wall. Picking up the red dress, he holds it up and presents it to me as if I’ve never seen it before. “Put it on.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“Put. It. On. You’ve hidden it away, yes? And for what? A special night away with Antonio? Well, you’ll sure as hell be wearing it while we find out just how special your time with this stronzo was. Now put it on.”
He turns his back and strolls over to the window, lighting a fresh cigar.
Standing there in shock, it takes a second for me to realize that he expects me to slip into the dress with him in the room.
Just to shame and humiliate me. A sickening sensation crawls over my skin, nausea churning in my belly.
Turning to face the wall, I slip out of my shirt and toss the dress over my head, fasten the top, then wiggle out of my skirt. He turns around just as my skirt hits the floor.
“Did you wear this for him?”
My hands shake. “Y-yes.”
Grow a backbone. Mercutio’s words come back to me. What did he mean by that? And how am I supposed to grow a backbone when I’m facing the meanest human being I’ve ever met? My uncle is a tyrant and a bully. My entire skeleton could be made of steel and he’d still find a way to crush me.
Uncle Sergio nods and makes a slow circle around me, puffing cigar smoke at me. I take short, shallow breaths, trying not to inhale its sickening stench.
“Let her in!” he yells.
The doors fly open and a small, serious woman wearing navy blue scrubs steps over the threshold with a medical bag in her hands. My uncle sneers down his nose at me and then walks out of the room. The woman and I stare at each other.
“Who are you?” My voice trembles, the words thick with tears.
She slowly approaches, her pixie face softening with a reassuring smile. I realize she can’t be that much older than I am, but there’s a confident, professional air about her that suggests she’s got an important purpose.
“I’m Debra Browning. I’m a registered nurse. You uncle has asked that I perform a per vaginal examination on you.”
“Excuse me?”
“A virginity check,” the nurse says apologetically.
For a moment, I’m stunned silent. There’s no way I heard her correctly. “You can’t be serious.”
She goes on, “I know it sounds old-fashioned, but I work with many families who need to discreetly ensure the purity of their daughters. It’s just a quick exam—”
I shake my head. “No. You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not doing that.”
Her lips purse as she sets down her bag. “I understand that your very high-profile marriage is contingent upon you being a virgin on your wedding night. Is that correct?”
What the fuck? “I was not told that. Ever.” I can’t stop shaking my head.
“Well, you’re being told now.” Everything about her goes cold, icy, and I realize she might very well be a nurse, but her practice is aimed at a certain clientele—those who like to control their women—and she’s going to protect her business and her reputation despite any protests from me.
“This is sexual assault,” I say, panic pitching my voice higher. “It’s a violation.”
The nurse ignores me. “We don’t have an exam table, so the couch will have to do. I’ll need a moment to set up and then you can lie down,” she says briskly.
She starts pulling things out of her bag and then covers the couch in a white sheet, followed by a paper drape. I can’t look away, the horror growing inside me. How is this happening right now?
After the nurse sets out a tray of tools, she turns back to me. “If you’re not a virgin, the groom demands a higher incentive to marry you. Do you understand?”
Incentive? Am I a bride or a farm animal?
She pats the couch. “Come and sit down, please.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I will.”
Her chin lifts. “I’ve been instructed to call on Terk for assistance if needed. Please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
Oh, hell no. That beast would be more than happy to look under my skirt.
Fighting the urge to panic, I move hesitantly to the couch and feel myself sink onto it. And then something happens to me. I just…check out. My brain registers that things are happening, but I’m in a fog, not present enough to fully experience them.
I’ve wanted to make love with Marco, so many times. Thank God I never did.
“Just breathe,” Debra says, lowering my hem over my knees and then moving away from me to peel off her gloves.
It’s done.
She gathers up her things while I lie there, trying to process it all.
“I’m happy to report to your family that all is as it should be. Have a nice wedding.”
Seconds later, the door opens and shuts.
I sit up and smooth my dress down, looking at the far wall but not focusing on anything.
The door opens and shuts again. Cigar smoke. Heavy footfalls.
“At least you’ve done one thing right. But from here on out, you will stop behaving like a slutty teenager, do you understand?
You could have ruined us.” Uncle Sergio thrusts a sheet of paper into my hand.
“This is the date and shop address for your wedding gown fitting. You will be there and you will have a smile on your face. Now thank me for not telling your fiancé what you’ve been doing. ”
He holds a hand out to me like he’s the Pope or something. Closing my eyes, I lean over and kiss his knuckles. “Thank you, Uncle.”
My words come out flat, but I don’t care. It’s all I can manage.
“Good. By the way, you have exactly four outfits in your room that I’ve approved, and nothing else. Your bedroom and closet doors have been removed, and your window will have a new alarm on it, since you have proven yourself unable to be trusted.”
I nod silently. What else can I do? There’s no way for me to fix any of this.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?
If he’s smart, he’ll stay far away from me. Marco has his own future—one he’ll make for himself. I can’t let it end tragically because of me.
But it doesn’t stop me from wanting him.