Chapter Twelve
Nestore made sure at least two guards were always posted outside my door and accompanied me wherever I went in the house. I wasn’t allowed outside yet, not even into the garden without Nestore.
Nestore was gone all the time. I wasn’t sure why he avoided me.
Maybe he worried he’d leave bruises that would ruin my wedding outfit if he were around me.
I spent my days in the library, feeling alone and lost. The only time I was allowed to leave the premises was a few days after my arrival, when I visited Francoise in her tailor shop.
My two guards led me to a car where Niccolo, Nestore’s cousin, was waiting.
Surprise washed over me at the sight of him leaning against the driver’s door.
I hadn’t dared to ask Nestore about him, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had killed his cousin in a fit of rage after I ran away.
His expression remained cool, almost hostile, as I approached him. He wore black pants, a black dress shirt, and a long black coat. The only thing missing was a hat.
“You’re alive.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked with a hint of apprehension. He stepped away from the driver’s door so one of my guards could get behind the steering wheel.
“Given Nestore’s obsession with death and human bones, I don’t think anyone’s safe from becoming a trophy.”
I didn’t miss the flash of worry on the younger guard’s face.
“You are,” Niccolo said, with a bitter twist of his mouth.
“He’s forcing me to marry him.”
“It could be worse. Count yourself lucky Nestore hasn’t chosen another fate for you.”
I shook my head at his callousness. “And you are his henchman?”
“I am his consigliere and closest ally. And I’ll make sure you don’t get a chance to break what’s left of his heart again. Now would you be so kind as to get inside the car, Amelia?” The last part was said with fake pleasantry.
I slid into the back seat, followed by Niccolo. “Take us to Francoise,” he instructed.
Niccolo kept his eyes trained out his window. He obviously didn’t have any interest in a chat with me. It wasn’t that I sought a friend in him, but I was lonely, and he was the only source of information I had.
I breathed a little easier when we left the gates behind.
In broad daylight and with the cool spring sun casting its benevolent light on everything, I felt a flutter of happiness about being back in the city where I’d grown up.
Romano Manor presented a stark contrast to the modern, colorful city scenery.
It was almost as if I had stepped out of an alternate reality.
“Don’t think about running. I’ll shoot you in the leg if you do.”
“Won’t Nestore be angry if you harm me?”
“He’ll be out of his mind, but if I let you run, nothing will save me.”
I pursed my lips. Was this his way of guilting me into staying? I didn’t owe him anything.
The shop was in downtown LA. A simple window read Francoise Custom Tailor, and behind the glass, I could see Francoise sitting at a table with a sewing machine. My younger guard stepped in first, followed by me and then Niccolo, while guard number two stayed in front of the door.
Francoise looked up from her sewing machine and immediately got up. Her smile was quick when she met my gaze, but vanished when she looked at Niccolo. She gave him a curt nod before she rounded her table and came toward me. “Please follow me to the back so I can measure you in detail.”
She led me into a back room full of shelves that were stacked with hundreds of fabrics. “I must ask you to undress to your underwear so I can take your measurements.”
“You already did.”
“I need more reference points for your dress. Given the short timeframe, it needs to fit perfectly as I won’t have enough time for corrections.”
Niccolo strode past me and searched the room. “Is there a second exit?”
“Behind the rag,” Francoise said. Niccolo positioned himself there with his back turned to me.
When I was sure he wouldn’t risk a peek, I began to undress. My cheeks heated when Francoise stepped up to me. I wasn’t used to being around people in my underwear.
She took a measuring tape from her apron and put it around my throat. My eyes grew wide with shock. “What is this for?”
Did Nestore want to put a collar on me? I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
As if she could read my thoughts, horror filled Francoise’s face. “I don’t do leatherwork. This is for your dress’s collar.”
“A collar?”
“Mr. Romano picked the design of your dress. His instructions are clear.”
“So I don’t get a say?”
“You can pick the lace trimming.”
I let out a huff.
“Please hold still so my measurements are correct,” she said quietly, then wrapped the measuring tape around my throat again. Next, she measured my shoulders, upper arms, wrists, chest, waist, and hips. She gave a satisfied nod when she was done.
“How much longer will this take?” Niccolo inquired.
“This is a demanding dress. I need to be thorough,” Francoise said sternly.
She motioned for me to follow her toward a stack with lace.
One with roses and tendrils caught my eye.
I pointed at it. Francoise pulled it out and laid it on a table.
She took out small lace roses and pearls from a drawer beneath it and placed them on the fabric.
“I’ll attach pearls, gemstones, and these lace roses on the lace and the rest of your dress. ”
“And you’re sure you can do this within seven days?”
“I won’t disappoint Mr. Romano,” Francoise said with a slight waver in her voice.
That evening, Nestore joined me for dinner for the first time since I’d arrived.
His expression reflected curiosity when I sank across from him. The dining room table easily accommodated twenty people, but only two places at opposite ends had been set.
I raised my eyebrow. “Are you scared of getting close to me?”
“Your closeness unsettles me for various reasons,” he drawled as he lifted a glass with red wine.
I did the same and let the alcohol boost my courage. “Why?”
A predatory look crossed his face. “Because I’m not a man who has to restrain himself, but you aren’t my wife yet, so restraint is required.”
“Marriage doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still restrain yourself,” I said softly.
Nestore was shirtless as usual, the thick fur coat draped over the back of his chair.
His upper body oozed strength, and I could imagine running my fingers along his pecs and biceps, then lower.
I had only lived out my desires in my fantasies and wished I could explore them in reality, but I couldn’t help but feel anxious over Nestore’s plans. He scared me.
Nestore motioned at one of the maids who rang a small bell.
Soon after, another maid entered the room with a tray.
A roasted duck perched in its center, surrounded by roasted carrots and brussels sprouts.
She put it down in front of Nestore. He picked up a long, gleaming knife from the serving platter and began carving the bird.
At least he wasn’t using the knife he made from my father’s bone, though I was sure he still had it.
I shivered. If Nestore intended to unsettle me, he was succeeding.
When he was done, he got up and carried the serving platter over to me. The maids left the room. “What piece would you like?”
He had cut the duck into two breasts and two legs.
I pointed at the breast. He lifted it onto my plate, then cut it into thin slices so I could see it was medium rare inside. Meat juice gathered at my place. Nestore put the vegetables down beside the breast before returning to his side of the table and serving himself.
I stared down at the duck breast, my belly clenching. I loved duck, and I always took my steak medium rare, so I could only blame my squeamishness on the situation.
“Enjoy your food,” Nestore said, almost in challenge.
I speared a piece of meat with my fork and pushed it into my mouth before I forced a petulant smile. Nestore took a bite, but never took his eyes off me. “I have been dreaming about your taste.”
My expression fell, my mind tumbling over images of cannibalism.
Nestore chuckled and leaned back, giving me an enticing view of his six-pack and the trail of dark hair disappearing inside his black pants. “I’m not that depraved. I’m talking about tasting your pussy.”
My heart pounded even faster, and warmth settled in my cheeks, then seemed to drop into my core. “What about Flavia and Luciano? Will they be allowed to attend our wedding?”
The switch of topic was necessary to keep my sanity.
“No. They aren’t welcome in my territory.”
“But they are safe?” I whispered.
“I have no interest in punishing Flavia.”
Relief eased the weight off my chest. “Only me?”
“Only you. I’m still not sure what punishment you deserve.”
On the morning of our wedding day, the seamstress came over again. Today was the first time I would see my wedding dress. I was nervous. What if Nestore had picked something morbid for it? Even though this wedding wasn’t my choice, I wanted a dress I felt comfortable in.
Francoise entered my bedroom with two men holding a giant white clothing bag. They had trouble carrying it into my room because it was so voluminous.
Once they had left and closed the door, Francoise unzipped the bag.
I stepped closer, my breath catching in my throat as she lifted the dress on a hanger with obvious strain.
The dress was magnificent, more beautiful than anything I’d ever imagined, even in my most daring fantasies.
It looked as if the fabric of the bodice had been woven of white gold yarn and adorned with minuscule diamonds, lace roses, and pearls.
Due to the many pearls attached to the fabric, it was rather stiff, almost like armor.
The collar and sleeves were made of silk and adorned with gemstones and pearls.
The inside of the dress was as smooth as water as it glided over my fingertips.
“Did you sew it alone?”
This looked like a project that took months, not a week.