Chapter 4 #3
It’s almost a blessing when whoever is outside my bedroom wakes me up intentionally throughout the night. Sometimes it’s a swift kick to the wall, others it’s blaring heavy metal with a lot of screaming. Papa and Elio put the cousin whose name I can never remember on night duty.
I’m lucky he hasn’t climbed into bed with me at this point, since he complains loudly he didn’t get a “taste” of me. Regardless, I keep a gun and a knife within easy reach. Due to how damaged my body is, they think I’m an easy mark, so no one checks my room for weapons.
My father doesn’t suggest they check either, and I think he’d laugh if I killed one of his men. I truly don’t understand that man, which makes me all the more scared of him.
I keep my distance from my father, standing outside of reach.
The bruises are all turning yellow and green, making my skin appear sallow.
I haven’t even tried touching it with makeup, there are places that are very tender to the touch.
I have no idea how I’m going to manage wearing a wedding dress unless I’m completely covered from head to toe.
“I wanted to update you on how things are proceeding with your upcoming nuptials,” Papa says formally, his gaze cruel and discerning.
“Your wedding dress is currently being altered. It’s not enough time to have it custom made, but it shouldn’t matter.
Don’t eat too much between now and next week and it should be fine. ”
Ha. I’ll be lucky if the damn thing isn’t hanging off my frame. Still, it’s only been a week of not eating more than the smoothies Papa has been having sent up so I doubt that’s enough time to become skeletal.
My appetite is almost nonexistent at this point, so Papa’s concerns aren’t necessary.
“Yes, sir.”
My voice is still raspy, though it’s not as painful to speak. I no longer have the hacking cough I had previously, and while I can speak easier, it’s easier not to.
“Nico is a man who knows his own mind and is quite obstinate about it,” Papa begins. I stand there without emotion, wondering what bomb he’s going to drop on me this time. “Despite your twice a day conversations, he’s insistent on seeing you. He told me you won’t allow him to video chat with you.”
Without a word, I drag my finger from my temple down my body, reminding him of why I can’t chill on a video call with my betrothed. I’m wearing my hair up in a messy bun, and haven’t washed my hair in several days. The only reason I washed it the day I was beaten was to get the blood out of it.
“Yes, yes,” he sighs. “I’m well aware, Rosa. Don’t insult my intelligence. However, you look better today and he won’t wait any longer. Nico wants to take you out tonight.”
“He what? Are you allowing that, Papa? I’m still wearing a binder for my ribs.”
“I’m both allowing it and suggesting you do whatever you need to in order to keep him happy.
Blow, fuck, whatever else. Your virginity is his, it’s none of my business if you choose to give it to him early.
I want that man hooked. If that means your blood stains his cock, then so be it. I’m tired of him making demands, Rosa.”
Maybe I’ll simply cut Nico’s cock off. I understand he’s worried about me, but he’s making things incredibly difficult.
“Yes, Papa. Are there any suggestions as to what I should wear?”
I refuse to argue with him. If he says the sky is green, then I will nod and agree. Well, unless he’s doing it to test me. Then I’m fucked either way.
“Something that covers as much as possible,” he grumbles. “Turn and lift your shirt so I can see your back.”
I’m wearing a strapless mesh bra that’s the most comfortable thing I own under my shirt, but he can’t see any of that as I expose my back to him.
“Wear a dress that shows your curves while still covering yourself. Your arms appear not to be too bruised anymore, so I suggest you show those off.”
“Are my signature colors acceptable or do you have something else for me to wear? Sir.”
The honorific is a little slower to come as I stand there, but my father allows it to slide.
“If you’re going to act like a harlot, may as well dress like one, mia figlia,” he sighs.
Wonderful. Now he’s pulling from my dead stepmother.
I hope that she terrorizes him from beyond the grave.
Putting my shirt back in place, I nod as I turn back around.
I’m already crafting together an outfit, my mind in my closet as I think about what corset I’ll wear to both cinch in my waist and protect my ribs.
“Come desidera, Papa.” My Italian is fluent because I grew up speaking it. I think the men in this house forget that because they discuss things amongst themselves that betray their most illicit desires.
I hear more than I should, but self preservation insists I pretend I don’t.
“Go. He’ll be here in an hour.”
Eyes widening, I turn and run back to my room. Panic does wonders for a girl.
My pain tolerance has also been increasing with each passing day, helping my breathing as my ribs heal.
Is it enough to fool Nico? Pulling a red dress so deep it’s almost maroon from my closet, I have to hope it is. For the both of us.