Chapter 9 #2
The rest of the day passes in a blur, and as the end of the night approaches, whatever jittery nerves I had during our wedding and reception are gone. Roberto is just like he was before. Nice. Attentive. Courteous.
He opens the car door for me like it’s instinct and smiles warmly when I look at him. We don’t talk much on the drive to the airfield, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s easy. Quiet in a good way.
At the tarmac, a sleek white jet waits under the moonlight. Roberto helps me aboard and gives me a small tour, like he’s excited for me to see it. The crew is polite and discreet. Everything smells clean, of leather, and soft perfume.
A few days before the wedding, he told me all about the private island in the Bahamas we’ll honeymoon at—nothing but palm trees, turquoise water, white sand, and no one else around for miles. It sounded romantic when he described it. It sounds even better now that we’re in the air.
I curl up in one of the wide leather seats. The cabin is dim, and the hum of the engines lulls me like a lullaby. I mean to stay awake. I want to look out the window and see the stars, but my eyes close before we even reach cruising altitude.
When I wake, his hand is warm on my shoulder.
"It's time," he says, smiling. "We’re about to land. You should eat something."
I blink myself upright; the window is already glowing with the soft gold-pink of early morning sun. The ocean lies below us—glimmering and endless.
A flight attendant hands me a tray filled with coffee, orange juice, croissants, and jelly. Normally, I'm not hungry first thing in the morning, especially not right after waking up, but the smell of coffee is enticing.
Last night, I didn't eat much during the reception dinner. My nerves were too frayed. Now I throw a glance at Roberto—my husband, and as if he can read my mind, he takes my hand, the one with the rings, and kisses it. "Mrs. Giordano," he says with pride and a grin, making my stomach flutter.
I smile up at him. "Good morning."
He takes the seat beside me and puts butter on a croissant before handing it to me. "Here, eat."
"Thank you."
I take it and smile back at him like a besotted wife. Tears build up behind my lids for having had such weird thoughts last night; tears of happiness, because he's being so nice and polite.
In the distance, the island appears like a painting—all lush green hills and blinding white beaches, ringed in pale sapphire shallows.
We touch down smoothly on a tiny strip of runway nestled between trees, then board a private yacht that waits at a dock carved into the side of the jungle.
The captain tips his hat to Roberto and welcomes us aboard, as if we’re royalty.
The moment we set out, warm salt air whips through my hair, tangling it instantly. The scent of the sea fills my lungs, fresh, briny, clean. It mixes with the sweet perfume of hibiscus and jasmine drifting from the island ahead.
It’s intoxicating.
This place is nothing like New York. Nothing like the marble and shadows and locked doors I’ve always known. It smells like freedom. Like possibility.
Roberto slips his arm around my waist and points to a villa tucked between palm groves at the water’s edge. "There it is," he says.
It’s breathtaking. Secluded. Romantic. Like a page out of a magazine. My phone buzzes softly in my purse. I pull it out and see a message from Gigi.
Gigi:
Wishing you all the happiness in the world, my favorite bride. Text me when he drives you crazy. Or when you drive him crazy.
A smile tugs at my lips. I glance out at the shimmering sea, the private island, the man beside me who’s been nothing but kind, and type back quickly.
Me:
It looks like that’s where I’m headed.
Send.
Roberto leans over my shoulder, reading. A slight chuckle escapes him when he brushes a kiss to my neck. I let the wind catch my hair and lean into the warmth of the sun and him. For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe this might actually be the start of something good.
Hand in hand, we make our way up to the villa, while his men carry our luggage, keeping a respectable distance behind us.
"You'll love this place." Roberto leans in one more time to kiss my neck, making me giggle.
Several men and women dressed in servants' clothing stand by the large veranda doors, bowing their heads at our arrival.
"Come," Roberto pulls me with him, lacing his fingers through mine. He leads me up a curved set of marble stairs, warm from the sun. The villa is carved into the lush hillside, all sleek lines and natural stone, but the second floor…
The second floor is something else entirely.
The moment we step into the bedroom, I stop breathing.
It’s like walking into a fairy tale.
All virgin white, floor to ceiling. Billowy white curtains flutter in the open archways where French doors spill out onto a wide stone balcony overlooking the ocean.
The breeze pushes through the room, soft and scented with salt and hibiscus.
The bed is enormous, draped in sheer white netting like a veil, and covered in cloud-like linens.
A white orchid blooms on the nightstand.
There’s champagne chilling in a silver bucket on the table by the windows, and a platter of tropical fruit, perfectly arranged like a still life painting.
The light in here is golden, honey-soft, refracted through the swaying palms outside. Everything feels open. Airy. Safe. I step forward slowly, brushing my fingers across the smooth white canopy as if it might dissolve at my touch.
"It’s beautiful," I breathe.
"I wanted it to be perfect," Roberto says behind me. He lets go of my hand and walks to the balcony, pulling the gauzy curtain aside with one hand as he gestures toward the sea. "Look at that view."
I do.
The water stretches into forever. Crystal blue, broken only by the shadows of coral reefs and the lazy passing of a yacht far in the distance. The sun hangs low, painting the sky in pinks and oranges. The sound of the waves is rhythmic and hypnotic.
"It’s paradise," I whisper.
And in this moment, I almost believe it.
The men arrive with our luggage, and Roberto leaves my side to grab hold of a sealed black garment bag. He nods at the men, and they close the door behind them when they leave.
"I've been fantasizing about this moment for a long time. Would you indulge me and put this back on?"
Curiously, I cock my head and watch him open the garment bag. Out spills my wedding dress. All tulle and satin. A genuine smile breaks over my lips, "I didn't know you were such a romantic."
"You don't have any idea what I am," he says. His words should be a warning, but the tone in which they're delivered and the grin around his lips make my heart flutter.
"Okay." I take the dress and look for the bathroom.
"There," he points.
With the heavy dress in hand, I walk into the bathroom. This is it, I think. The moment I’ve known would come. The moment every girl in our world is raised to expect. The moment when I give my body to my husband. When I become a wife in every sense of the word.
I place the dress carefully on the counter.
For a moment, I just stare at it, ivory silk and tulle and lace.
It still smells fresh, like it had been cleaned since I wore it last. I never thought I’d put it back on.
I thought the wedding was the big moment.
The vows. The kiss. But this… this is the real one.
The one no one talks about except in euphemisms and warnings and whispered advice.
Be sweet.
Be patient.
Don’t flinch.
I’m not afraid of Roberto. I keep telling myself that.
He’s been kind. He’s never rushed me or raised his voice.
But kindness doesn't change the fact that this is my first time. I can’t help but wonder if he knows that I'm a virgin. Should I tell him? Ask him to be careful? I pull the zipper down the back of the dress I’m wearing with trembling fingers and step out of it slowly.
My skin feels too bare in the air-conditioned chill, too aware of itself.
I slip the wedding gown on, again.
It feels heavier now.
Like it knows what’s coming.
I smooth the bodice with my hands and look at myself in the mirror.
I don’t recognize the girl staring back.
She looks… serene. Polished. But underneath, I can still feel the fluttering in my stomach.
The fear I’m trying to ignore. The tiny hope that it won’t be terrible. That maybe… maybe it’ll be okay.
That maybe I’ll feel something besides pressure and obligation.
I take a deep breath.
This is what you were raised for, I remind myself. Be good. Be graceful. Be ready.
I open the door.
Roberto has changed, too.
My heart stops when I take in his naked chest and the tight black leather breeches. He holds something in his hand. My mind refuses to recognize it until he places the black leather henchman mask on his grinning face. That's when my heart beats so fast I think I'm going to pass out.
"Rob-erto?" I ask with a hitch and a hiccup. This has to be a bad dream. It has to be. A very bad one.
"My pretty little bride," I hear the smirk in his voice. He picks something up from a side table. It's also black. Thin.
I didn't think my heart could beat any harder, but when I realize he's holding a black collar, it does. With a muffled scream, my frozen legs wake up, and I rush toward the door. Roberto doesn't move.
I rip the door open.
Two of his men stand there, like they've been expecting me. The look on their faces, the gleam in their eyes, tells me everything I need to know and don't want to acknowledge.
"Now, come back inside, my sweet little bride." Roberto's voice is cold, "unless you want Pacco and Lennard to hold you down." A lump forms in my throat.
"It's all the same to me. And them." Roberto laughs.
Pacco's and Lennard's gazes are locked on me.
A fever burns in their eyes that I've only seen once before.
When those men tried to abduct the other girls and me.
Slowly, I take a step backward. And another.
Until my back hits Roberto's chest. He must have walked forward without me noticing.
A small sob escapes me when his hands grab my arms. The door is still open, and Pacco and Lennard stare at Roberto and me expectantly.
"What's it gonna be, little bride. Do you want them to watch?" The cold stiffness of Roberto's mask touches my ear, muffles his voice, but I can still hear a ragged breath coming from him. Feel his arousal against my back.
Brutal palms grab my breasts, squeeze them. "Do you?"
"No-oh, plea-se." I plead, now fully sobbing.
"Maybe not tonight," Roberto pushes me forward, never releasing my breasts, before he kicks the doors shut, first one, then the other.
"You're hurt-ing me," I whisper.
"Oh, baby, you have no idea," he laughs. "Now stand still."
Even if I'd wanted to, I wouldn't have been able to move.
I stand still as he releases my breasts, then pulls up my hair.
I can hear his deep breathing echoing inside the mask.
He fastens the collar around my neck. The slight click is so faint, but to me it sounds like the door to a dungeon closing.
"Get on your hands and knees," he pants, grabbing the bulge between his legs and rubbing it. "Now!"
I'm too stunned, too overwhelmed, too frightened, too overcome to move. I stare at him with tears streaming down my face, shaking my head, not to contradict his command, but in denial of what is happening.
"No?" The word is distorted, like a chuckle.
His arm swings back, his palm hits my face with so much force, I land on the ground in a pile of satin and tulle. He kicks me in the side. Mercifully, the kick is broken by the satin and tulle, but it's still enough to push the breath out of me.
His hands grab my ankles and flip me over. A scream of pain and humiliation tears from my lips.
"That's it. Scream, baby, scream for me." He pants. "This is going to be the beginning of a long honeymoon," he shouts, pulling on the collar harder, pumping into me, until the world goes black.