The morning light filters through the curtains of my room, painting everything in soft gold, and for a moment I forget what day this is. Then I see the wedding dress hanging on the closet door and reality crashes back.
Today I’m marrying Luca Marchetti.
My captor. My protector. The man who destroyed my life and then offered to rebuild it into something better. The man whose arms feel like the safest place in the world even though logic says they should feel like a cage.
The man I still can’t quite figure out how I feel about.
I sit up slowly, pulling the sheets around myself, and try to process the tangle of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. This should be simple—I should hate him. He burned down my clinic, forced me into this engagement, isolated me from everything and everyone I knew. The man I met that first night in the warehouse, cold and cruel and absolutely terrifying, should be the only version of him I remember.
But he’s not.
Because somewhere between that night and now, he’s shown me glimpses of someone else. Someone who converts sunrooms for injured animals. Someone who stays with me while I perform surgery I’m terrified of botching. Someone who promises me dreams I’d given up on, who holds me how a lover should. Who looks at me sometimes with an expression so raw and vulnerable it takes my breath away.
How am I supposed to reconcile those two versions? How am I supposed to know which one is real?
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
“Come in,” I call, expecting Linnea with breakfast.
Instead, Cristina the wedding planner enters with an entire team consisting of a hairstylist, makeup artist, and someone I don’t recognize carrying what looks like jewelry boxes. They descend on me, transforming my suite into a makeshift salon while I sit there in a daze.
“Mr. Marchetti wants you to look perfect,” the makeup artist says with a warm smile, apparently oblivious to the fact that this whole situation is fucked up. “Not that you need much help—you’re absolutely glowing.”
Cristina nods vigorously. “Isn’t she? Giuliana is a natural beauty. No wonder Mr. Marchetti fell for her.”
Am I? I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back. There’s color in my cheeks that wasn’t there a month ago, a softness to my expression that speaks of someone who’s stopped fighting quite so hard.
You’re confusing captivity with care, the rational part of my brain whispers.
But if that’s true, why does thinking about Luca make me feel warm instead of terrified? Why do I catch myself anticipating his presence instead of dreading it? Why does the thought of building a future with him—complicated and messy as it would be—feel less like a prison sentence and more like…possibility?
“You’re thinking too hard,” the hairstylist observes, gently turning my head to work on an elaborate updo.
Cristina pats my shoulder. “Wedding day jitters are normal, but trust me—the way Mr. Marchetti looks at you? You have nothing to worry about.”
If only she knew.
The hours pass in a blur of primping and preparation. By the time they’re done, I barely recognize myself. The woman in the mirror is elegant and sophisticated, her dark hair swept up in an intricate style that somehow manages to look both formal and romantic. The makeup is subtle but transformative, emphasizing features I usually don’t pay attention to. And when they finally help me into the dress?—
“Oh,” I breathe, staring at my reflection.
Madame Rousseau’s team worked magic. Ivory silk clings to my curves before flowing into a skirt that moves with me when I turn. The neckline is just low enough to be interesting without being scandalous, and delicate lace overlays create patterns that catch the light. I look like a bride. Arealbride, the kind who’s marrying for love instead of coercion.
The thought makes tears prick behind my eyes.
“None of that,” the makeup artist says quickly, and Cristina produces a tissue. “You’ll ruin my work.”
I laugh, but it comes out shaky. Because this should be one of the happiest days of my life, and in some twisted way parts of it are. But it’s also built on a foundation of lies and revenge and circumstances I never chose.
There’s two people who should be here who aren’t. One of them is Katie and the other is…
“I wish my mother could see this,” I whisper, the words escaping before I can stop them.
The team exchanges sympathetic glances. “I’m sure she’s watching,” Cristina says gently, her brown eyes sympathetic. “And she’d be so proud of how beautiful you look.”
They’re nice words, but generic. Would my mother be proud that I’m marrying a man who holds me captive? That I’ve found myself caring for him despite everything he’s done?
Or would she be disappointed that I gave up fighting, that I let myself blur the lines between enemy and…whatever Luca is becoming to me?
