Chapter 19
KARINA
“But I don’t love him!”
It’s the morning of my wedding dress fitting and I woke up consumed with panic.
I’m in fight-or-flight mode, and no matter how many deep breaths I take or how many attempts I make at mental yoga, I can’t make it stop.
The clock is ticking down—loudly—on my wedding day, and it’s never seemed more real, more inevitable, than it does today.
“Nobody said you had to, Karina. Your job is just to marry him,” Uncle Sergio says coldly, but it sounds more like a command.
“Please,” I beg, even though I know it won’t change anything. My uncle doesn’t care what I want. Nobody in my family does. “I don’t want this for my life.”
“Your life? Your life? I have provided for you since before you were born! I’ve fed you, clothed you, kept you safe and protected under my roof! Your life belongs to me,” he bellows.
Tears stream down my face, but I don’t fight him. Not because I agree with what he’s saying, but because I don’t want to make things any worse than they already are.
He’d practically dragged me out of bed this morning, ripping off the blankets and grabbing me by the ankles. I’d already been awake for hours at that point, my chest tight, my stomach churning with anxiety, but I hadn’t been able to find the energy to get up and face my future. My doom.
Standing in front of my uncle now, in my yellow robe with bare feet, it seems I’ve reverted to my childhood and I’m the disobedient little girl he always liked to punish.
His face is a light shade of tomato red, the trademark color of an impending tirade.
It’s just the two of us, facing off in the middle of my room.
There’s no sense in arguing. What difference would it make?
I’ve feared him my entire life, and no amount of trying to stand up for myself ever stopped the punishments or the lectures or the tight, tight reins around my throat.
“You are so selfish, Karina, thinking your happiness matters more than the future of this famiglia.”
Of course, my happiness doesn’t matter. It never has.
“How dare you stand there and challenge my authority!” he goes on, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice. “You can marry Pietro, and you will!”
I drop my gaze to the floor. Submissive. As always.
“You are a grown woman, Karina, not a child. You have responsibilities. Do you understand the power of our family name? It is your only purpose to support that. There is no love, no romance, no silly fantasy life. You marry. You uphold the status of your family. You serve your husband and your patriarch, you bear and raise children, and you ensure that they, too, are prepared for when it is their turn to serve the Bruno legacy. Say you understand!”
“I understand, Uncle,” I monotone, fiery rage burning like hot coals inside me.
Marco would never treat me this way. But I know I can’t let myself think about him right now, or at all today for that matter. My mother will be hovering over my shoulder nonstop, picking at every wedding dress that I try on, telling me how wrong they all are.
“You will not leave this room under any circumstances without my explicit permission,” Uncle Sergio is saying.
“A guard will be placed at your door day and night. You’ll take your meals in your room, alone, so no one has to look at your sullen, impertinent face.
You should spend some time practicing more dutiful expressions for your husband.
I doubt he’ll be as understanding as I am. ”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Satisfied, he walks out into the hall before pausing and turning back. “Your breakfast will be up shortly. You have thirty minutes to eat and make yourself presentable.”
A towering shadow appears behind my uncle and then materializes into a brick wall of a man who moves to post up beside my door with arms crossed in front of him.
My guard. My uncle nods to him without bothering to make any introductions, then stalks down the hall.
I tell the guard I’m getting dressed and then go into my closet and sink onto the tufted bench in there.
Pressure bubbles around me, squeezing until my heart threatens to explode.
My future is barreling down on me, so fast I can’t get out of the way or jump to safety.
I can’t do anything but snatch up every last exhilarating second of the short, beautiful romance story that Marco and I have created.
Because I know I won’t be getting a happily ever after.
Instead, I’m destined to live like Bertha Mason from Jane Eyre, the wife of Mr. Rochester who was locked away in the attic of Thornfield Hall…left to wither and suffer and slowly die inside while Rochester gallivanted around living his best life.
The difference between Bertha and me is that I’m not insane.
At least, not yet. Though I imagine it won’t take long as Pietro’s wife.
If my uncle touts himself as understanding and thinks my fiancé will be worse, I’m terrified of what life with Pietro will be like.
Because despite Marco’s sweet words and assurances, I know I can’t escape my marriage.
There won’t be any kindness or tender touches from Pietro, no compliments that warm me, no hungry glances that send a sharp ache of desire between my legs. I’m doomed.
A rap on the doorframe draws my attention as an older woman wearing the uniform of our house’s domestic staff comes meekly into my room with a wooden tray.
I’ve not seen her before, but I overheard my mother talking to my uncle about replacing some of the kitchen staff because they’d “worn out their usefulness.” Seems she got her way.
I stand and lean in the doorway of my closet, watching the woman arrange the tray on my bedside table. Then she turns to face me with her head down and her hands folded over her middle. My uncle has trained her well already.
“I don’t need anything else,” I tell her gently. “Thank you.”
Ignoring the food, I hurriedly get dressed and then stand by the window with my coffee.
It’s going to kill me not to be able to speak to Marco or see him.
But it’s obvious that I won’t have an ounce of privacy between now and the wedding—especially with my bedroom door removed and a guard standing right outside, 24/7.
Forgetting Marco is the most appropriate thing to do, really. And the safest. For both of us.
There’s a shout from somewhere in the house.
My uncle, sounding pissed. My guard turns around and I take advantage of the opportunity to pick up my full tray—reconsidering the contents, I toss the oatmeal and half the toast into the trash under my desk so it looks like I ate something—and bring it over to the doorway.
“I’m done. Please have this removed,” I say.
But the guard isn’t paying attention to me. He’s peering down the hall where the shouting came from. I give him a once-over, and see the edge of a cellphone sticking out of his pocket.
Jackpot.
“Hey! Take this.” My voice is strong and commanding, as imperious as I can make it, though I feel none of those things.
The guard finally looks back at me, his shoulder and back going perfectly straight. “Set it on the floor. Get back inside your room.”
Slowly, I set down the tray with a slight tilt, so the glass of juice tips over the side and onto the floor. “Shit, this is going to ruin the marble! My uncle’s going to kill me!” I say, grabbing the napkin to wipe at the juice, though I’m purposely spreading the mess around.
The guard crouches down, completely focused on the spill and not me as I snatch the phone by the corner and pull it from his pocket.
“In your room!” he repeats.
“Sorry!” I yelp, furtively tucking the phone into the waistband of my pajamas.
I go into my closet and grab my clothes, then lock myself in the en-suite bathroom and turn on the shower, my heart thumping the whole time. Hopefully, the noise of the pounding water will be enough to cover the sound of my voice.
As I stare at the phone in my hand, my face tingles at what I’ve done.
I can’t believe I stole the guard’s phone—how long until he realizes it’s missing?
And will he suspect me right away, or will he go searching for it first?
Either way, I’m on borrowed time, and I have to be quick.
But I had no choice. There’s no way I’ll be able to meet with Marco again before the wedding, and I can’t stand the thought of leaving him hanging, wondering if my heart is true.
Swiping up on the screen, I nearly cry out in delight as the phone comes to life, unlocked.
I undress and tilt the spray of the showerhead toward the wall, then step into the tub, pulling the curtain behind me.
Fingers trembling, I dial Marco’s number.
I hold the phone to my ear and cup my hand over my mouth, praying he’ll answer.
“Marco Bellanti.”
“Marco,” I whisper-shout. “It’s me.”
“Karina? Where are you? Is that…rain?”
My body trembles as his rich voice washes over me. “It’s a long story. I only have a minute, and then I won’t be able to speak to you again. I’m on lockdown, with a guard and everything. And the wedding is soon, and I just…wanted to say goodbye.” My throat tightens.
“Karina, this can’t be it. There has to be a way—”
“Shh. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. “Tell me about your day. What are you doing right now? Tell me something good.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he must decide to play along. To give me what I want. A goodbye that doesn’t feel like a goodbye. “I’m thinking about you, actually.”
Warm tingles go over me. “You are, huh?”
“I am. As always. I don’t have to work until later, so I’m still in bed.”
The huskiness of his voice does nice things to my insides. Does he sleep naked? How many times have I daydreamed about what a naked Marco would look like?
“You’re thinking about me in bed?” I tease.
Oh, that sounds dirty. And I like it.
“Yes. And I’m thinking about all the things I’d do to you in my bed.”
“Oh, really…” I say, letting my voice go throaty.
“Really,” he says.
“Like what?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d start by undressing you and tying your wrists to the headboard with something soft—a tie or a scarf, whatever you’re comfortable with—and then I’d make you close your eyes while I kiss you from your throat to your ankles. That’s as far as I got.”
My scalp zings, my knees suddenly weak as vivid images rise unbidden in my mind, so I lean a shoulder against the shower wall for support. My face goes hot, my pulse doubling.
“Mmm,” I moan quietly. “And what would you want me to do to you in return?”
Holy crap, did I just say that? I don’t even care. I want this.
I want anything Marco can give me.
“I’d want you to wrap your soft little hand around my cock and grip it tight,” he says.
The phone almost slips from my fingers. It’s getting hot in here, so wet and steamy…
“Mmm…” I pant. “And then stroke you up and down, like I did with my mouth?”
A low, answering groan comes over the line. “Yes. Just like that. Take off your clothes, Karina. Be naked with me.”
“They’re already off,” I tell him truthfully. “But this is about you. I want you to feel good. Like you did when I had my mouth on your cock. When I licked the tip slow with my tongue. Circling, soft. Tasting you.”
My voice is a hard whisper as I start repeating each thing he says, adding onto it with my own dirty descriptions, coaxing him, getting into it, letting out short, breathy gasps since I’m afraid I’ll be overheard if I moan.
I’ve never done this before, but I think I’m getting the hang of it.
Another groan from Marco lets me know that I’m doing just fine.
“Use your hand. Stroke me harder. Faster,” he murmurs.
“Harder. Faster. Yes. I’m stroking you with my tight fist while I suck the tip—”
“Mmm. Faster.”
“Faster,” I agree. “Licking you. Sucking, even harder, stroking you harder, so good—”
“More, fuck, more.”
“Get ready. I’m opening wider, taking all of you in my mouth. Swallowing you right down. You feel your head hitting the back of my throat, don’t you? Choking me, so good, so—”
“Fuck!” He groans hard and strained, followed by a beat of silence and then a forceful breath.
I listen closely and then he huffs a short laugh. “Jesus, Karina. How did you do that?”
“I’ve read a lot of dirty books.” My heart is still pounding in my chest. I can’t believe I just did that. But the exhilaration fades as I see the time on the phone. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Karina—”
“You’re incredible, Marco. I’m glad we met. Thank you for everything.”
Hanging up, I press the phone against my chest and hold back a surge of tears.
With no time for self-pity, I delete the call, turn off the phone, and then remove the battery.
Then I set the pieces on the tub floor, readjusting the showerhead until water beats a torrent over them.
I wish I could just smash the thing, but can’t risk the noise, so I wait a few minutes, hoping the water is enough to destroy all the evidence.
Then I wrap the pieces in toilet paper and shove them to the bottom of the trash can.
Finally turning off the shower, I wrap myself in a towel and start putting my makeup on.
Only then does my heart fully realize what I’ve done.
I just said goodbye to Marco.