Cecile rolls her eyes as she dips a stick into the hot wax. “Do I need to call in the guards? Because I will. I’m sure they’ll enjoy themselves.”
I press my lips together. My eyes slide to the top end of my bed. To the space between the mattress and the wall.
Cecile huffs impatiently. Her hand gestures towards the bed. “Well? Hurry up.”
The wax stings against my skin, leaving a prickling burn behind as she rips off the strips with savage enjoyment.
My hands clench as I stare up at the ceiling.
My choice.
I hold onto that thought as she dresses me in scraps of lilac lace before opening the box that arrived with her. The pale silver corset of the gown is stitched with crystal beading that shimmers in the light, layers of matching tulle floating around me to pool against the floor as she ties a black ribbon around my throat and shoves my feet into matching small heels.
My shoulders are dusted with shimmering silver, lips carefully slicked with pale pink, and Cecile clicks her tongue as she steps back, adjusting a curl. Strands of hair have been pulled back to create a small braid at the back of my head, the rest of my hair loose and flowing. “Lovely.”
Somehow, her reluctant admiration only makes it worse.
Stefano is leaning against the wall of the hallway when we walk out, sharp and sleek in a black tuxedo with a matching shirt. He runs a hand over his shaved head when he sees me, his brows drawing down.
“Doesn’t she look lovely, Stefano?” Cecile nudges him, and he brushes her off.
His eyes are bleeding into darkness when he looks at me again. “After you, Cecile.”
Slowly, he turns, offering me his arm. My side brushes against his, and I glance down at the holster as we follow Cecile down the hall.
When she turns the corner, he holds me back. His hand slides to cover mine. “We can try again.”
There’s wretchedness in his tone as I tug my arm from his, turning him to face me. “You couldn’t get rid of me the first time, and you want to do it again?”
No amusement lingers in his face at my soft tease. Only resignation. “I’m not going to sit there and let him touch you.”
My heart flips over at that. Begins to race, with the first bit of panic that I allow myself to feel. “You’re not going to do anything. Whatever he throws at me, I can take it.”
“All day,” he says in a low, pained tone. “I have thought about my mother, up in that room, Cat. Except I don’t see her face anymore. I seeyours. You are asking me to stand back and let it happen again, and Ican’t.”
I flinch at that, and regret flits over his expression before it hardens. “Promise me. Whatever it is, I will fight. But promise me that you will too.”
After.
That I will keep fighting, keep breathing. Keepliving.
My gaze does not break as I meet his eyes. “I promise.”
When I pull on his arm, he starts to move again, my arm sliding back into the crook of his and his hand on top of mine.
He doesn’t let go until we reach the dining room.
Salvatore stands as we walk in, his eyes sweeping me in approval. Approval, and something else, something that feels cloying and thick as it crawls over my skin.
He dismisses Stefan with a flick of his fingers, motioning him to sit a few seats down from Cecile before pulling out my chair.
There are no restraints tonight.
“I think you’ve earned a reprieve.” But he reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together on top of the pristine white tablecloth.
The four of us sit in silence. Waiting. And as I glance down the table, I notice the extra places laid up with crystal glasses and silver tableware.
That bland expression is back on Stefan’s face, but his lips tighten a fraction as he notices them too.
