I place my hand in his because I have to. Because I don't have a choice. Because this is my life now.
His fingers close around mine, too tight and controlling, and my stomach drops.
He leads me onto the dance floor, and the second we're surrounded by other couples, his hand slides low on my waist. Lower than appropriate. Lower than comfortable. His fingersdig into my hip, pulling me flush against him, and I feel every inch of his body pressed to mine.
I can't breathe again.
The room is too hot, too crowded. His cologne is suffocating and his hand is a brand on my hip and I can feel his breath on my neck and?—
My chest tightens and the ballroom disappears, replaced by basement walls and echoing laughter.
I need to run.
Bile rises in my throat. Sweat breaks out across my skin from the inside out, cold and clammy and wrong. My vision tunnels. The music is too loud. The lights are too bright. I need to get out, I need to run, I need?—
"You look stunning tonight," Vittorio murmurs against my ear, and his voice sounds like it's coming from underwater.
My heart is trying to beat out of my chest. My hands are shaking. I'm going to pass out or throw up or both and there are three hundred people watching. I can't fall apart here, I can't?—
"Move your hands," I bite out, and my voice comes out sharp and desperate.
Vittorio pulls back just enough to look at me, one eyebrow raised. "What?"
"Your hands." I'm shaking. Fuck, I'm shaking and he can probably feel it. "Move them. Now."
He laughs, actually fucking laughs like I'm adorable. "We're getting married tomorrow, Isabella. Don't you think we're past being shy?"
Shy. He thinks I'm beingshy.
The anger cuts through the panic just enough for me to meet his eyes. "We've met five times. We've never been alone. And you just shoved your tongue down my throat in front of three hundred people. What the hell was that?"
His smile turns into something uglier. Something that makes my skin crawl for different reasons. "You're going to be mine tomorrow anyway. Why not start enjoying each other now?"
Enjoying.Like I have a say in it.
I try to pull back but his hand tightens on my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "You've got some fire in you. I like that." His voice drops, soft and dangerous. "But you'll learn. After we're married, you'll learn what it means to be an obedient wife."
The threat is clear.I'll break you. I'll teach you. You'll learn to submit.
I'm going to kill him. Or throw up on him.
I try to pull away again but he holds me tighter, and the panic is clawing its way back up my throat?—
"Mind if I cut in?"
The voice is low, deadly calm, and so familiar it makes my entire body go still.
Enzo.
I don't turn around. I don't need to. I'd know his voice anywhere. It's been a year since I've heard it directed at me, but my body remembers.
"We're in the middle of a dance," Vittorio says, and I can hear the dismissal in his tone.
"And now you're done." Enzo's voice doesn't get louder. Doesn't get angrier. But somehow it gets more dangerous. "Let her go."
I feel the moment Vittorio considers pushing back. His hand tightens on my waist for one second, his jaw clenching.
Then he sees Enzo's face and whatever death promise is written there. Something in him backs down.
