“I’m so sorry.” I put my hand over my mouth before lowering it to my chest. “I feel sick after traveling.”
“Perhaps this will help.” Steffano reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out something small, pinched between two fingers. He then extends it to me.
The rock glistens in the sun. It’s easily four carats of cushion-cut sparkle set in a single gold band. I offer my left hand out, and instead of sliding it on my finger, he tucks it into my palm.
I push it onto my ring finger myself. The band is a little small but not too uncomfortably so. But I know better than to complain. It would seem ungrateful and unobedient, or something Father would have to apologize for.
It’s easiest if I play the perfect wife from the first minute we meet.
“Come, wife,” Steffano orders like I’m a dog, turning and opening the door to the sports car for me. “We must arrive at the party together, look happy as newly engaged people should look.”
Wife.My stomach churns and threatens to bubble over with bile.
Marry me.Royal’s voice echoes in my head, and I regret being four thousand miles from home, I regret saying no, but I don’t regret keeping him safe.
I lower myself into the sports car and wait as Steffano closes the door with a soft click.
My purse vibrates, and I dig out my phone.
Royal:
Be safe. Enjoy Italy
Be smart. Connect to the Wi-Fi when you arrive.
But as soon asI see that message, it changes.
Royal:
Be safe. Enjoy Italy.
I rub my eyes,sure I’m hallucinating the disappearing text message, but I managed a couple hours of sleep on my flight.
When Steffano closes the driver’s door, his presence is suffocating. I tuck my phone away.
He looks over at me. “I can either make your life a living hell or like a princess in a castle. How you behave determines that. Do not embarrass me, and you’ll get a taste of what it’s like to be my princess. I’ll give you everything you desire. Money is no issue.”
Ew.
The latter sounds like just as much of a living hell as whatever the former implies. But my initial response, a single ‘ew’ when being threatened, should be a telltale sign that I’m no longer cut out for life as a made man’s wife. I’m already too different from who I was before Royal. I don’t have the fear I used to have. Fear that I really need to have.
But I bow my head subserviently and look away. “I understand, Steffano.”
“Good. How is your Italian?” He starts the car.
The engine hums in a low purr, and the rumbles through the seat bring me a dirty yet delicious memory of my time with Royal.
“É buono o cattivo quanto vuoi che sia.” I look over at him with a soft smile. My Italian is far from perfect, but the more I speak it, the stronger it gets.
“Don’t be smart with me.” He glowers. “Guests at this party will mostly speak in English. Until you get the accent perfect, perhaps you do the same. They’re expecting an American wife. But I want one who is well rounded.”
“Yes, Steffano.”
No one’s ever told me my accent is bad. I regularly get mistaken for a native Italian, but apparently, it offends him.
I’m just tired. I’m emotional. It’s a big change. Let it go.I coach myself through every technique I’ve used when Mom and Dad get upset with me. I’ve spent my whole life learning to be neutral and passive. Now is the time to put those skills to the test.
Royal would have never made you feel like this,a little part of my heart yells.
