It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what he plans to do if I’m not ready, but I bite my tongue and watch him walk outside. The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds like a cell door locking.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the clothes, at the cabin that’s become my prison cell, at the life I no longer recognize as my own. Every choice I’ve made since opening my door to Martin Everett has led me here, to this moment, to this impossible situation, to this man who holds all the power.
A little voice in my head tells me to make a run for it. To try to escape again, but I banish it away at the reminder of the cold and the way my body shut down. Of how close I came to dying in the snow.
I can’t run. I’m exhausted, physically and mentally, and even if I did make it to town, there’s nowhere to go that he couldn’t find me. And if he doesn’t find me, his father will.
With that knowledge, I do the only thing I can do.
I pick out some clothes and get ready.
After a rough wash with mostly cold water, I’m dressed a couple of minutes later. At least I found a spare toothbrush. My circumstances might not have changed, but at least my teeth are clean. The clothes fit perfectly.Of course they do. The jeans hug my hips and legs like they were made for me. The sweater is soft cashmere, nicer than anything I own.
I’m pulling on a pair of thick wool socks when the front door opens again. Calder stomps snow off his boots and sheds his coat, bringing cold air and some swirling snow into the cabin with him. His eyes sweep over me, taking in the clothes with a look of satisfaction and possession. Like seeing me in clothes he provided marks me as his somehow.
“They look good on you,” he states.
I don’t respond because what the hell is there to say? Moving toward the small table, I watch as he pulls a small velvet box out of his pocket. The sight of it makes my heart skip a beat.
No. No, he can’t be serious.
Oh, but he is. He opens the box to reveal a ring with a simple gold band and a small diamond. Nothing ostentatious or expensive, just…pretty.The kind of ring a girl might actually choose for herself if she were planning a real wedding with someone she loved.
The thoughtfulness of it makes me want to scream.
“I need you to wear this,” Calder says, holding the box out to me. “When we see your father, that way he knows this is serious.”
I shake my head, backing away from the ring like it might burn me. “I don’t want to wear that.”
“What you want and what is going to happen are very different things.” He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back. We do this dance across the small cabin until my back hits the wall, and there’s nowhere left for me to go. “This is real,Saint. We’re really getting married. The ring makes it real in everyone else’s eyes too.”
“It’s not real,” I argue desperately. “It’s a lie.”
“It’s protection.” He’s close now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “The only kind that works in my world. We went over this. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s happening. Now give me your hand.”
“No.”
“Saint.” His voice drops into that dangerous register that makes my skin prickle with awareness. “Don’t make me force this too.”
The ring box is still in his other hand. He takes my left hand, the one not bandaged from the handcuff, and I’m too tired and defeated to pull away.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I whisper as he slides the ring onto my finger.
“It changes everything.” The ring settles into place like a shackle. Like a brand. Like a promise I never made but will be held to anyway. “Now you’re mine in a way that everyone can see. That my father will have to respect.”
I look down at the ring, at the way it catches the morning light, and feel something inside me break. Not shatter, that happened days ago. This is different. This is the final surrender. The acceptance that this is my life now.
I’m going to marry Calder Bishop.
I’m going to lie to my father.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but the words lack the conviction they had before.
“I know.” He cups my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him. “But you’ll marry me anyway. You’ll stand in front of your father and tell him you love me. You’ll wear this ring and let everyone believe you chose this. Because that’s what must happen to survive this.”
“What happens after the wedding? After everyone believes the lie?”
“Then you learn to live with it.” He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone, the touch achingly gentle. “And maybe, eventually, it stops feeling like a lie.”
