Chapter 46 Leticia
LETICIA
LONG DISTANCE BFF
Royal:
Good morning, gorgeous. Dress shopping today?
I’m smiling before my feet hit the ground. He’s clearly going through the other text messages on my phone and still stalking me like a hawk that way.
I asked for access to the Wi-Fi but was told I shouldn’t need it. ‘Money isn’t an issue, use all the data you’d like’ is some sort of arrogance I’d never expect from Dad. He’s not usually overly frugal, but they’ve never had any qualms about me using Wi-Fi before.
Not that there are any cameras I’ve been able to find for Royal to stalk me on.
I do miss the way it felt to be watched — once I knew it was him. How loved it made me feel. My body aches remembering the way he used that word for the first time. How he touched me like I was precious.
Leticia:
Good night. I am sure it’ll be a test of my patience.
Did you see the hideous ones that Mom said are her favorites?
I send the messages and wait for him to see them. But counting the hours back to Chicago time . . . It’s well after midnight, so he should be sleeping.
But when I get out of the shower and check my phone, my messages have changed again.
Leticia:
Good night. I’m sure it’ll be a test of my patience.
Royal:
Send me pictures of your favorites.
Where do the messages keep going?
A knock sounds on my bedroom door. “Leticia?”
It’s Steffano’s voice.
I pull the bathrobe tight around me. “I’m getting dressed. I’ll be right out.”
“Don’t be so shy, princess. Open the door.” Steffano’s words are sweet, but it’s undoubtedly an order.
I take my hair out of the towel hat before going to open the door.
“There’s my beautiful wife.” Steffano smiles his greasy smile and steps forward, pushing me backward into the room. He closes the door behind him.
My suspicion grows to an all-new height, and I draw shallow breaths.
“I’m going to be late.” I manage to keep my voice steady.
“They’ll wait.” Steffano steps toward me and brushes wet hair from my face. “I just wanted a look at you before you go.”
Inspecting the goods. I grit my teeth but don’t move.
“Come now, don’t be shy.” Steffano tugs at the robe. “I know your father promises you’re a virgin, but you don’t have to be afraid of me.” He cups his crotch with his other hand. “Or this.”
I swallow hard. Breathing isn’t easy. Steffano tugs at the collar of the robe, and I hold it tight against my body.
“Don’t be that way, princess. I told you we could play this two ways.” Steffano warns me, his voice dropping low.
Conceding, I let him drag the robe aside, but I refuse to look at him. I don’t want to watch him treat me like a piece of meat.
He hums in approval as he reveals the naked skin of my collarbone. It turns into a disgusting groan as he slowly pulls the robe back, exposing my breast and then lower. “Make sure to find a dress that shows off your figure. I love my wife shaped like a woman.”
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, but I nod, barely breathing.
Steffano takes a hand and caresses along my abdomen, fingers dipping low as if to slide between my legs.
“We should wait for our wedding night.” My body trembles under the tension of waiting to see what he’ll do. If he’ll touch me. I try to clench my muscles to stop it.
Steffano lets out a low, near growl as he pulls away. “Don’t be late.”
I’m frozen in place until he walks back to the door, opening it and then closing it behind him. I release a massive exhale, the air rushing out of me until I’m doubled over.
It could have been worse. I remind myself.
Steffano’s touch wasn’t unkind or overly lustful. But it’s the first of many, and it rattles me. Maybe it was wrong to learn my body and let Royal show me what good can be.
My phone is sitting on the vanity where I left it. After I toss the robe over the towel bar, I pick it back up and type a message off to Royal.
Leticia:
Thank you for always going at my pace.
I set it back on the counter and go back to getting ready. It still hasn’t vibrated when I’m done curling my hair or when I’ve pulled on a sweater dress.
The longer it’s silent, the more alone I feel, but maybe I should focus on distancing myself from him. Maybe I need to start a Royal detox.
The ache in my heart hits harder.
“Leticia.” Mom practically cries as I step out from the fitting room into the viewing area.
It’s the third dress. The first two she scoffed at and sent me back. They were both big, fluffy ballgowns. Apparently, the bridal stylist thought I would be fitting for a princess-style wedding.
This one is less fluffy, more A-line, and satin. The square neckline is not me at all.
“It sounds like we’re getting closer.” The stylist smiles widely. “Let’s add a veil.”
I stand while they primp, my aunts, Mom’s sisters, Bianca and Marta, looking it over.
“It just doesn’t seem like the right dress. Leticia needs something a little less subtle.” Bianca gives me a coy smile. “She always wears something more modest. It’s her wedding. She should get a chance to shine.”
“Well.” Mom considers her older sister’s point. “We could do something a bit more revealing.”
“Steffano did say he’d like to see my figure.” It’s hard not to bring back that conversation. The way he looked at me? The hunger for something that is his only in name.
“That settles it, then!” Bianca looks to the stylist, and they quickly talk in Italian about dresses and styles before darting farther into the store to find just the one.
The next dress is so tight I can barely breathe, but it’s definitely fitted. I’m constricted from chest to hips in white fabric, and I have to take slow, careful steps out to the pedestal.
“Now, this would be a bit looser when it’s in your size.” The stylist notes how tight it is. “Unless you’re looking for such an intense look.”
I shake my head quickly. It’s a gorgeous gown. The aunts and my mother are drawn to it like moths to a flame. A veil, a bouquet, and shoes are brought out, and my hair is pulled up out of my face.
“Is this the one?” The bridal stylist looks to me for an answer.
“It is.” I agree with the consensus of the room.
It’s not me. The blonde woman in the mirror isn’t me. I know it’s my body, my face, and my hair, but none of how I look right now is anything like me. She’s getting married to Steffano, and I’m just a captive in her body.
I’m finally out of the gown, into my own clothes, but I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a rented body.
I open my phone out of habit and find a new message from Royal.
Royal:
They’re all beautiful, but the one you bought doesn’t look like you.
I didn’t even realize that there were cameras in the shop. I try to discreetly look around, but I don’t notice any off the bat. He is really good at this stalking thing.
Royal:
You’re flawless.
You don’t need a dress to choke you in order to show off your beauty.
Tears well up in my eyes, and it’s like they’ve come out of nowhere. I wipe them away quickly. It’s too much.
I can’t text him back because it hurts too much to even think about it. I tuck my phone back into my purse and go with my aunts and mother out into the city.
Down the block, cars are waiting for us.
Steffano stands near one, and he smiles at me. It’s almost genuine but still too calculating to be truly caring. He holds out his hand. “May I see your phone, please?”
Obediently, I hand it over, and he begins to look through it. I wait, expecting some sort of reaction from him, but the longer I wait, the less it seems like I’ll be getting one. Minutes tick by as he looks through things on my phone.
“Come, princess. Let’s get you back to the castle.” Steffano opens the door and offers me his hand so I can lower myself into the car. He tucks my phone into his pocket.
I set my purse on my lap and buckle my seat belt.
Steffano walks around the front of the car before climbing into the driver’s seat. “Tell me, wife. What did you learn from spending time with Royal Cavanagh?” he asks, speeding through the city, out toward his villa.
“Not much, they have a lot of weapons in the home. Their security is state of the art, and Royal says he can watch every part of their territory with just a few clicks of the button.” I recap the text messages I’d sent Dad, gripping the leather seat, holding myself in place as he sharply cuts around hairpin curves.
“Yes, I’m sure he can. His reputation precedes him. But I’m more wondering what he teaches you?” Steffano growls.
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head, watching between him and the road, fearing for our lives and what happens when a sports car crashes.
But Steffano is a skilled driver, and before he explains further, he pulls us up in front of the house.
My stomach is queasy from the erratic driving. “I’m going to be sick.”
One of Steffano’s servants — goons, hired help — opens my door. I’m not sure how, but I barely make it over to the edge of the driveway, lined with brown winter plants, and lose a little bit of my undigested breakfast.
“Afraid you got caught? Now you’re sick with remorse.” Steffano’s voice is so growly behind me that I wonder if I’ll see golden eyes like I did in Royal’s.
I don’t. Steffano’s are the dark color they’ve always been, his glare focused on me.
“No.” I clear my throat, looking in my purse for a tissue. “I’m easily motion sick. Anyone can tell you that I get sick in sports cars, on planes, and especially on winding roads and in turbulence.”
I don’t realize how far out of line my words are until I stop digging in my purse to look up at Steffano.
His brow is furrowed, nostrils flared, head tilted down to glare at me, and arms crossed in front of his chest.
I forgot my place, and he’s surely going to put me in it. I wait for him to be explosive like Dad. I wait for him to burst into yelling or grip my arm and yank me toward the house. But he doesn’t.
Instead, Steffano storms toward the house, shouting behind him, “Come, princess.”
The guards stare at me like I’ve grown a second head.