Chapter 16
TIFFANY
When I wake, the light is a bare sliver through the small window. The house is silent like a grave, and there is a chill in the air.
My head is foggy and my mouth dry, and as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, I cast my eyes on the Bible.
This room feels so familiar because of its simplicity. Below me is a world where simplicity doesn’t exist.
Yesterday was the most intense day of my life, and I really hope today is a quiet one. If every day is like the preceding one, I’m already tired of living, anyway.
I make my way to the small bathroom and enjoy a hot shower for once. That was a luxury the convent kept for special occasions, and I spend a little too long under the powerful jet.
My mind drifts to the guest room downstairs where Mrs. Harrington arranged the clothes that were delivered. I wonder what I will be wearing today?
When I venture back into my room, Mrs. Harrington is waiting with an armful of clothes and a sweet smile.
“Morning, ma’am. Mr. Ravera has selected your outfit, and his instructions are for you to meet him in the dining room for breakfast.”
I glance at the pile of clothes and sigh inside.
“Is he always so controlling?” I ask, despair lacing my words, and she merely smiles. “He is a good man, ma’am.”
I’m already aware she will hear no bad word said about him and sigh inside.
“Tell him I’ll be there when I’m ready.”
“You have twenty minutes. Those were his instructions.”
She leaves with a soft smile of apology, and as I turn my attention to the clothes, I die a little inside.
He has chosen a smart cream shift dress with a matching jacket. Matching ivory leather heels and a bag of makeup. There is a small cream fascinator lying beside a cream leather purse, and it strikes me that I’m staring at my wedding gown.
Of course. The deal. Today we marry and tonight…
It’s suddenly very hot in here, and as my fingers reach for the gorgeous silk lingerie, my heart actually flutters when I imagine what happens when it comes off.
I can’t do this.
I sit on the bed and stare at the offending clothes, wishing I was back in The Order of the Holy Mother of God. In fact, anywhere but here.
I am marrying the beast.
The man with no morals or humanity. He will tear me apart, and I will be the one lying bleeding at his feet. Pregnant with his child and chained to a life of madness. I can’t even escape. He lives inside a fortress, and my only way out of this is to do what he wants and hope he gets bored with me.
Was this what it was like for my mother? Did she run because she had no other choice? I’m aware of how difficult my father was. Am I reliving her life? Will I abandon my child to save myself?
It’s a sobering thought that I push aside immediately it raises its hand.
No, I would never abandon my child, and part of me wonders if that was also my sister’s mom’s plan.
Their deaths were accidents that don’t really stand up to scrutiny, and I wonder, not for the first time, if it was a little too convenient.
One of the verses from the Bible I studied so hard revisits me and gives me strength when I most need it and I whisper. “Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.”
For some reason that gives me strength, and so, with a firm resolve, I pull on the armor and hold God in my heart as I prepare to be betrothed to the devil himself.
* * *
I’m five minutes late on purpose. I mean, I’m not the kind of woman to work to someone else’s schedule unless they deserve that right.
Joseph Ravera does not. He is cold, unfeeling, and belligerent.
He hasn’t exactly made me feel very welcome, and if anything, I’m merely an inconvenience to him—that’s obvious.
He has the audacity to glance pointedly at his wristwatch as I enter the dining room, and I roll my eyes as I slip into the seat as far away from his as possible.
“You are five minutes late, Tiffany. Don’t you know how to tell the time, or must I teach you that as well?”
I ignore him. Lifting the pot of tea that sits in a silver teapot, not even glancing in his direction because if I did, I would be mesmerized.
It struck me as soon as I entered the room. He is a presence that demands recognition. His ominous good looks like an imaginary cupid’s arrow, daring you to gaze on the beast and forever be smitten.
His dark beauty unravels even the most unwilling mind. His intense observation causes the heat to build and principles to dry in my throat. I am not immune to him. He fascinates me, and yet I want to hate him—perhaps I do already.
He is everything I never wanted in a man, and yet someone please tell my body that because I purr like a kitten, the minute he gazes in my direction.
My heart pounds, my sweat glides and my traitorous body bends to his will, and so I have decided that ignoring him as if he isn’t here could well be the safest option.
I jump when he stands, and before I can react, he is at my side, gripping my wrist, pulling me from the chair, the tea spilling on the white tablecloth as my hand catches the edge of the cup.
“What are you doing?”
I gasp as he pulls me hard against him, his hand twisting in my hair, holding my face mere inches from his as his dark eyes power down to my soul.
His lips are crushed against mine, his tongue staging an invasion I never realized I’d welcome. My heart races as he kisses me hard, sexy as fuck and as if he can’t breathe without my help.
My mind explodes as I respond against my wishes, any armor I tentatively put in place falling in a heap at my feet.
I respond, loving the attention. The attention of a man like him. Strong, capable, and sexy as sin.
He pulls away, his hand cupping my face as those dark eyes power down to my soul and he whispers, “Now that I have your attention, princess, shall we start again?”
I bite my bottom lip in confusion, my heart racing as my blood tears through my body like an electric current.
I’m shocked when he leans forward and drags my lip between his teeth, biting down softly, sucking the soft flesh. It’s an erotic kiss I wasn’t expecting, and heat floods my core as my traitorous body opens like a flower in the sun.
His words caress my mind as he whispers, “There is nothing like the taste of innocence.”
Says the devil to the angel.
My mind is playing tricks on me as I imagine I like this. I want this and am okay with this. How can I be? This situation is a mindfuck and yet I’m loving the danger, the attention and the pure wickedness of what’s happening in my life right now.
I couldn’t pull away if I tried. I should. I should slap him hard and run. This situation isn’t normal, and he definitely isn’t normal, but right now this is my normal, and I’m shocked to discover I’m good with that.