Chapter 15 Vivian
VIVIAN
The SUV rumbled along the winding road, the sound of the tires on gravel filling the suffocating silence.
I sat stiffly in my seat, the scratchy lace of my dress irritating my skin as much as the man sitting beside me.
Raffaele—it felt so weird knowing his name—stared out the window, his jaw clenched and shoulders tense.
He looked pissed, and it wasn’t the cold, calculated anger I’d seen before.
No, this was different—sharper, more intense.
Good, I thought, even as my own nerves rattled. If he was brooding over marrying me, I couldn’t blame him. The feeling was mutual. Although, part of me couldn’t help but be offended.
I fiddled with the lace at my wrist, twisting and untwisting the delicate fabric between my fingers.
My mind raced, darting between thoughts of escape and the inevitability of what awaited me.
The consummation. My stomach churned at the word, bile rising in my throat.
The memory of those men in the village the night I’d tried to escape clawed its way to the forefront of my mind.
Even now, I could feel their rough, greedy hands on me.
Would Raffaele be the same? A man who simply took because he could?
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was still staring out the window, his profile shadowed and unreadable. I inhaled shakily, trying to steel myself. Whatever he wanted, he’d get. He’d made that abundantly clear.
The thought made my hands tremble, and I clenched them tightly to stop the shaking.
When I looked up again, I found Raffaele’s gaze on me, his expression impossible to decipher.
His eyes were darker than usual, a shade of blue so deep it bordered on black, and they seemed to pierce through me, seeing far too much.
“You clean up well… I mean… you look beautiful,” he said.
I blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. Then I smirked. “So do you.”
His brow arched slightly, but his expression gave nothing away. Shaking my head, I let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
“Let’s skip the faux pleasantries, Raffaele. We both know this isn’t that kind of arrangement.”
The energy in the SUV shifted immediately. He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips into a thin line. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he snapped. The ice in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
I leaned back. So, that’s a sore spot. I filed the information away for later. If it bothered him that much, I’d make sure to call him by his name every fucking time. Small victories were still victories.
Silence descended on us again, but this time it was charged and electric.
The rest of the ride dragged on, each passing moment knotting my stomach tighter.
When the estate came into view, its looming spires rising against the night sky, my heart stuttered.
I wasn’t ready for whatever this was going to be.
The SUV stopped, and before the driver could even step out, Raffaele opened his door. He turned to me, his hand outstretched. Hesitantly, I placed my hand in his. The warmth of his skin was startling against my cold, clammy fingers. His grip tightened as he pulled me out of the car.
He didn’t release me as he began walking toward the estate, practically dragging me along behind him. “Raffaele,” I said, stumbling slightly as I tried to match his pace. “What are you—”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Just don’t.”
My heart pounded as he led me up the steps. My thoughts spiraled, panic setting in as I realized where this was probably heading. He was taking me to his bedroom. My breathing grew shallow, and each step felt like a march toward the gallows.
Shit, shit, shit. The words repeated in my mind, a frantic mantra as we entered through the front doors. The hallways blurred together as he pulled me along, our footsteps echoing in the vast space. My chest tightened as panic clawed at my throat.
“I—I need a minute,” I stammered, trying to wrench my hand free from his grip.
He stopped abruptly and whirled around, his face unreadable. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. My panic was choking me, making it hard to think, hard to even breathe. I glanced around, looking for an escape or some way to put space between us.
“Vivian.” His tone was softer, and his brow furrowed as he studied me. “Breathe.”
I shook my head, backing away until my shoulders hit the wall. “I can’t—I don’t—”
He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a frightened animal. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “Look at me.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes pinned me in place. He didn’t look angry anymore. In fact, he looked concerned. It was almost enough to steady me. Almost.
“I don’t want this,” I blurted. “I don’t want any of this.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. For a moment, I thought he might lash out, but he took a step back, giving me space. “I’m not going to force you into my bed, Vivian. Think of me what you want, but I’m not that kind of man.”
My panic receded slightly. I didn’t know if I believed him—how could I, after everything?—but he seemed completely genuine.
“Then why are you dragging me to your bedroom?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He took a few steps and opened my bedroom door, gesturing for me to go inside. I hurried past him. So, he’d fuck me in my bedroom. What a gentleman.
His gaze flicked to my bed, then back to me. “You’re my wife now, and that comes with certain expectations. But I’m not a monster, Vivian. Not in the way you think.”
I stared at him. I wasn’t sure what to say. What could I say? He wasn’t forcing me. At least, not yet. But I knew it was inevitable. It was only a matter of time before I’d be expected to consummate this joke of a marriage.
The tension in my chest eased slightly, and I nodded hesitantly. Whatever was coming next, I wasn’t ready. But for now, at least, I’d been given a reprieve. And for that, I was almost grateful. Almost.
He tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze holding mine with unnerving ease. “You can relax,” he said, his tone calm but sharp, like a blade hidden in silk as he shut the door behind us. “I won’t be fucking you today.”
The relief evaporated in an instant as a rush of fresh panic swept over me. “Today?”
He wasn’t fazed by the panic in my voice. “But there is something else that needs to happen.” He shifted his weight slightly as he loosened his tie. “A binding ritual. You don’t have a choice in that. It’s required of all Gallanti marriages.”
The room suddenly turned colder. “What kind of ritual?” I managed to ask even with the pressure on my chest. Fear threaded through my voice, and I hated that he could probably hear it.
“It’s not as dramatic as you’re imagining. No blood. No pain. It’s straightforward.”
I wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he was so matter-of-fact about it or that I didn’t believe him for a second. I stiffened, my body instinctively readying itself for a fight that felt inevitable.
“Speaking of the ritual,” he drawled, his gaze dropping to my dress, “you’ll want to change into more comfortable clothing.”
Undressing—being vulnerable in front of him in any way—made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t exactly unzip this monstrosity of a dress on my own, and Eldora wasn’t around. My pride warred with my need for help, until finally, I swallowed my unease and forced the words out.
“Can you…” Gods, my voice sounded so small. I cleared my throat. “Can you help me with the zipper?”
A flicker of amusement lit his dark eyes, which was definitely not the menace I’d expected.
“Gladly,” he said, and the silkiness of his voice made my stomach flip.
He stepped forward with predatory grace, and I sucked in a breath as I turned my back to him. My pulse hammered in my ears as I felt his heat behind me, much closer than I’d anticipated.
He put one hand on my hip, his fingers curling just enough to make me hyperaware of every point of contact.
With his other hand, he grasped the zipper at the base of my neck, the cool metal brushing against my skin.
The first tug was slow, deliberate, the sound of the zipper slicing through the silence like a knife.
I held my breath as he lowered the zipper inch by inch. I thought he’d stop halfway, but he continued slowly as though he was in no hurry. My skin prickled under his touch. He stopped just above the curve of my hips, his fingers grazing my bare back as if testing a boundary.
Sucking in a breath, I stepped forward quickly. I clutched the front of my dress to keep it from slipping down and turned to him.
He looked maddeningly calm, though his smirk was still firmly in place on that perfect mouth. He put his hands in his pockets, and his eyes held an intensity that made me feel like I’d given him more than I intended.
“Ten minutes, Vivian. Don’t make me wait.”
With that, he walked out, leaving me in the center of my room with my dress undone and my heart racing.
I exhaled shakily, trying to process what had just happened.
My mind whirled with a hundred conflicting thoughts, each one tangling with the next until it was all one big, chaotic mess.
I wasn’t ready for whatever this ritual was.
Then again, I hadn’t been ready for any of this—not the wedding, not the binding, and certainly not the strange, almost intimate moment I’d just shared with a man I despised.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me—wide-eyed, shaken, but still standing. Ten minutes. That was all the time I had to prepare myself for whatever came next.