Chapter 2
TIFFANY
Ican only focus on one word.
Wife.
What the actual hell is going on? I’m meant to be working for one year before returning to the convent where I am safe. The last time I looked, when you marry someone, it’s for life—surely.
The beast beside me—I can’t think of him as a man—has retreated into his dark form of hell, leaving me reeling.
I don’t want to marry him.
I don’t want to marry anyone, and if I did have a liking for that, it would never be to a man like him.
I will not marry him.
He can’t make me, and so I inwardly fume as I unravel an escape plan in my mind.
I’m not doing this.
I’m not going with him, and yet Morgan is heading to the convent with a warrant for my arrest. I can’t go back there because, as sure as I know that I hate that woman with every miserable piece of my heart, I know she will win.
She always does, and being incarcerated on a murder charge is almost as horrific as marrying the beast beside me.
He is not a man.
His dark good looks attract for sure, but his personality withers the attraction the moment he opens his dirty mouth.
I hate him. I already know that because what man demands a woman marry him as if discussing the weather?
I maintain my vow of silence, and as we enter the airfield, I note the gleaming jet waiting for us.
There are many men swarming around it, and I’m surprised to note their guns are firmly in their hands as they train their eyes on the horizon.
At least I think they are because shades cover their eyes and their expressions are blank.
The beast doesn’t even flinch as we come to a stop at the foot of the aircraft and the men form a wall between the steps and the car door.
Despite my animosity toward him, I’m intrigued, but won’t give him the satisfaction of my curiosity.
The door opens, and he steps out and, without another look behind him, heads onto the aircraft.
I remain in the car with a triumphant smile because manners maketh man, and I was right in my assumption that this one is a beast.
He reaches the top of the steps without looking back, and as he disappears inside the aircraft I am strangely annoyed at that. Does he really hold me in such contempt that he can’t bear to be polite even, and I’m shocked when one of the armed guards leans in and jerks his gun toward the door.
“Ma’am.”
“What?”
I glare at him and he says politely, “Please leave the car and board the plane.”
“No.”
He doesn’t falter and his voice doesn’t hold any alarm as he says quietly, “It is for your own safety. We had word there is a threat to you nearby and unless you wish to swap one captor for another, one without your best interests at heart, you would be wise to do as I say.”
“What threat?”
I can only think of one threat in my life, and that’s the woman who self-styles herself as my stepmother.
“There is a convoy of patrol cars heading this way with a warrant for your arrest. Your jail cell is booked, and the judge and jury have already concluded that you’re guilty. The easiest way out of this is to board the plane and allow Mr. Ravera to work on your behalf to dismiss the warrant.”
“Him?”
This time I jerk my head toward the jet. “You mean he is my only shot at freedom? Well, thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather spend life in prison than go anywhere with that man.”
The sound of his gun being primed is enough of a warning to change my mind in an instant, and I huff, “Fine, but I want it on the record that I am being kidnapped and do not consent to any of this. When I get to London, I am heading straight to the Swiss embassy and calling my mother, and there is nothing you can do about that.”
He remains silent and merely stands to one side as I stumble out of the car, falling into step behind me as I hurry up the aircraft steps.
Tears sting as I contemplate my predicament, and as I enter the aircraft, a smiling attendant points to a seat nearby.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Zaferelli. Please strap in; we will be airborne within minutes.”
I lower my voice. “You do know they are kidnapping me. Please alert the captain or the authorities when we land.”
The pity in her eyes speaks more than her unspoken response, and she points to the seat. “Please, I’ll arrange some refreshments when we are airborne.”
I reward her with an angry scowl, and as I strap myself in, the door slams behind me and the engines whirr.
I don’t look around me. I couldn’t care less who is on this plane because I wasn’t kidding; as soon as I get the chance, I’m out of here, and there is nothing that beast or his assassins can do about that.
We are airborne inside of five minutes, and I grip the edge of the seat, tears burning behind my eyes, threatening to reveal my weakness. I am being hunted as a murderer and married off to a criminal, and as days go, I’ve had a lot better.
As soon as the plane levels out, the seatbelt sign goes off, and the attendant reappears with a soft smile.
“May I offer you a drink from the bar?”
“Water, please.”
She nods, leaving me to polish my anger, and I hate that I have nobody to unleash it on. The beast has obviously crawled into his cave because it appears that I am alone, which is a very scary place to be.
When the woman returns with a cool glass of water, I accept it with a grateful smile and slump back in my seat, wishing I wasn’t wearing the habit.
It used to be a safe place to hide. Anonymous, even and yet out here, in the real world, it’s as if I’m wearing a target on my back.
I stick out like a rusty nail in a modern home, and I do the only thing possible and lower the head covering.
Perhaps the attendant has some scissors, and I can cut it shorter, perhaps attempt to restyle it into something a little more flattering.
Not that I have anyone I wish to impress; if anything, I shouldn’t care less what I’m wearing, but surrounded by people who obviously dress immaculately only reinforces my own sense of having fuckity all.
My mind is made up, so I unfasten the belt and head to the galley at the front of the plane, locating the attendant who appears to be arranging some kind of feast out of nowhere.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want something, Miss Zaferelli?”
For some reason she appears flustered and anxious, and I shake my head in an attempt to reassure her.
“I don’t suppose you have any scissors. It’s just that I want to restyle my outfit. It’s a little too ostentatious for my liking.”
I smile in a weak attempt at humor, and her smile softens.
“I’m afraid I don’t, merely a crash ax.”
“I could use one of those.”
She chuckles softly. “You and me both.”
Her eyes wander past me, and the resignation in her smile earns me a fleeting hope of finding a friend.
“I have something you could use.”
“You do?”
“Yes, my overnight bag is in the cupboard, and I am happy to give you my dress to wear. It’s clean and we appear to be the same size.”
“Would you really do that for me?”
I’m touched, and she smiles sympathetically.
“Of course. Give me a minute. You can change in the toilet, or I could ask Mr. Ravera if you could use the bedroom if you prefer.”
“The bedroom?”
I die a little inside. Of course, he has a frigging bedroom. He is just like my father who enjoyed his comforts while leaving his daughters to spend the flight time in their seats while he disappeared with his fuck toy Morgan.
“The toilet will be fine, thank you. I appreciate your help.”
I nod toward the food she is preparing.
“Can I help you with that?”
The expression of horror on her face is curious, and she shakes her head.
“No, please, you are a guest. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“I don’t care.”
“No, Miss Zaferelli, please allow me to do my job.”
She heads off, leaving me wondering about her job. I mean, did she not see the freaking guns outside and the wall of menace that appears to have followed us on board?
This is not normal behavior and I am so done with this shit. The only good thing about this entire trip is that the beast is not in my sight. I’m guessing he is lurking though, and when I do get the opportunity, he will take the verbal lashing I am already practicing in my mind.
How dare he kidnap me against my wishes and order me to be his wife? What century are we living in? Not the current one for sure.
The attendant returns with a pretty floral dress and a small bag.
“Take this, too. There’s makeup inside and a hairbrush. Some perfume, and a spare toothbrush and toothpaste. Freshen up, and I’ll have your meal ready when you return.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
I really mean that, and she nods, her sad smile confusing me a little as she whispers, “Good luck, Miss Zaferelli.”
As she turns away, I dwell on her strange choice of words but conclude they are extremely appropriate. She’s right, good luck indeed, because I’m not stupid and realize it will take a huge amount of luck to get me home to the convent and keep me safe in this strange and rather disturbing world.