“Oh, sweetheart,” I sigh, reaching out to stroke his cheek with infinite gentleness, “you’re not ready for our first dance yet. But that’s okay. I love you so much, I don’t even mind that you’re still fighting this beautiful thing between us.”
Instead, I move to the center of the room and begin to sway to music that exists only in my heart. I close my eyes and picture Carlo standing with me, his strong arms around my waist, spinning me around the most beautiful dance floor in the world.
In my mind, the basement transforms completely. The concrete walls disappear, replaced by soaring ceilings painted with cherubs and clouds. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow light across polished marble floors. The air smells like roses and champagne and happiness.
Elegant guests in formal wear watch us from candlelit tables, their faces glowing with joy for our happiness. Dario and Molly beam at us from the front table, Molly dabbing at tears with a silk handkerchief. Nicolo and Liam raise champagne glasses in an eternal toast to our love.
And there’s Marco, tears streaming down his face as he watches his little brother marry the love of his life. No more shame, no more hiding, just pure joy that I’ve found someone who loves me exactly as I am. My parents too, finally understanding that this is who I’m meant to be and who I’mmeant to be with, that love conquers all their old-fashioned fears and prejudices.
Everyone we care about is here, celebrating our love instead of hiding from it, embracing our happiness instead of trying to bury it in basements and silence.
The music swells in my imagination, a full orchestra playing the most beautiful waltz ever composed, and I spin faster, my dress billowing out around me like a cloud of starlight. This is what love feels like. This is what happiness feels like. This is what forever feels like.
When I finally stop spinning and open my eyes, slightly dizzy from the movement and the overwhelming emotion of the day, Carlo is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. But that’s okay. He’s probably just as overwhelmed as I am by how perfect this day has been, by how seamlessly we’ve transitioned from two separate people into one unified whole.
“I love you, husband,” I say softly, settling back beside him on the bed and taking his hand in mine.
And for the first time in my entire life, I am completely, perfectly, utterly happy.
Chapter eleven
Carlo
Ginni seems lost in a daydream. He is sitting beside me on the bed, holding my cuffed hand, but fuck knows where his mind has gone.
His slender chest is rising and falling rapidly, making the beads on his dress sparkle like captured stars. An aftereffect of his dancing. But there’s something else too. Something dreamy and distant in his expression, like he’s still somewhere else entirely, still lost in whatever fantasy he conjured while spinning around the room.
And what incredible dancing it was. I know he was swirling around a frigging basement, imagining it was our first dance, after forcing me to marry him through some insane online ceremony.
Nevertheless, he looked amazing. Absolutely breathtaking. Gliding across the concrete floor with grace and poise that would put professional dancers to shame, his dress flowing around him like liquid silk. The expression on his face was pure bliss, utterlytransported, like he could actually see the ballroom he was imagining, and could hear the orchestra playing just for us.
There were moments when I cursed these chains because I yearned to get up and join him. I wanted to place my hands on his narrow hips and twirl him around like he deserves, and feel his lithe body pressed against mine. The urge was so strong it was almost painful, watching him dance alone when every instinct I had was screaming at me to be his partner, to give him the first dance he was so clearly craving.
Oh lord. I take a deep breath. Is insanity contagious? Have I finally lost my grip on reality completely?
I need to be working out how to escape. I have to plan the most discreet way of getting an annulment, assuming that ceremony was actually legally binding. I should be cataloguing every weakness in his security, every moment when he lets his guard down. I should not be lying here, hypnotized by Ginni’s dancing, mesmerized by the way his body moves like poetry in motion. I must keep my wits about me.
But Cristo, he’s beautiful. Even knowing what he is, even understanding the depth of his madness, I can’t deny the raw magnetism that radiates from him. It’s like he’s been designed specifically to short-circuit every rational thought in my head.
The way the dress clung to his curves as he spun, the way his hair caught the light, the pure joy on his face as he lost himself in the moment… it was impossible to look away. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Even when I know I should be horrified, even when every logical part of my brain is screaming that this is wrong, I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Suddenly, Ginni rouses. Shaking himself like someone waking from the most beautiful dream, his eyes refocusing on the present moment. Returning from wherever his mind drifted to, probably some elaborate fantasy about reception parties andhoneymoons and whatever other domestic bliss he’s cooked up in that twisted imagination of his.
He turns to face me, and the transformation is immediate. Gone is the dreamy, distant expression, replaced by something sharp and focused and entirely too knowing.
He’s grinning broadly. Blue eyes flashing with mischief and anticipation and something darker that makes my pulse spike.
“It’s our wedding night!” he beams with sheer delight, like he’s just announced we’re going to Disneyland instead of... whatever the hell he has planned for me now.
My stomach fills with icy dread, a cold weight settling in my gut like I’ve swallowed lead. My lungs fill with horror, each breath suddenly requiring conscious effort. But my cock fills, betraying every rational thought in my head. And my heart starts fluttering all over the place like a teenager’s. Heaven help me, I’m so conflicted and confused I don’t know which way is up anymore.
The combination of terror and arousal is making me dizzy. How can I be this scared and this turned on at the same time? What kind of sick psychology is that? But watching Ginni’s face light up with anticipation, seeing the way he looks at me like I’m his greatest treasure, I feel like I’m drowning in contradictions.
Ginni stands up slowly, gracefully, like everything he does. He pads to the end of the bed on silent feet, positioning himself where I can see every inch of him. Then he gives me a sweet smile, innocent and wicked all at once, and slowly, delicately slides off his satin pumps.
The movement is pure elegance, each motion deliberate and purposeful.
I force a swallow down my throat. Oh hells, I think I’m in for a striptease. A wedding night striptease from my brand-new husband, who drugged and kidnapped me into this marriage.
