“What’s a couple more hours?”
Something he could easily turn around on me, but I’ve clung to the fact that I want to wait until I’m married to have any kind of physical intimacy with him.
Smirking, he releases my breast, letting me close up my robe again. I don’t hurry. I don’t want him to know how afraid I am of him.
“In a few hours, you’ll be mine.” Grant presses me to the wall by my neck, and I wait, blinking slowly at him.
“And there will be no more putting off your duty. No more of this holy Virgin Mary routine.” Releasing me, he stalks halfway out, stops to look at my dress on its hanger, and throws one last threat over his shoulder. “You’d better be worth all of this.”
The door hangs open as his footsteps echo down the hall, further into the event center. I close it softly, flipping the lock and taking my first full breath. Pain squeezes in my throat from the pressure Grant used.
I hope no bruises will form. My neckline is too low to hide any.
Rubbing the front of my neck, I fight back the tears. Panic rises hard and fast, and I stumble to my violin. It’s still in its case—my one treasured possession. The only thing I can call one hundred percent mine.
Opening the case, I stroke the strings, gleaming across a polished spruce front as it lays in its velvet bed. The scent of rosin calms my breaths, and I can almost feel the vibration of the strings under my fingers.
After a minute, the panic subsides with a lingering sense of dread. But I have the strength to put on my dress.
Mom knocks while I’m stepping into it, bustling in to help when I unlock the door. She’s got a few items in her hands—the something borrowed and blue. I attempt a smile at her, but emotion flashes in her eyes when she sees it.
She brushes the hair from my face, looks at my throat, and gives me her neutral frown before she steps behind me to begin the long process of buttoning me up. I bet it’s the only reason Grant let her in here.
“Are you prepared for this, honey?”
I suck in a deep breath, forcing her to pause her work before settling back in. I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
My voice sounds resigned even to me, but Mom doesn’t comment on it. She’s trained me to be stoic, to fit my role and adapt. To be invisible one moment and helpful the next. Even if it means me harm.
The buttons are done, and I peer at myself in the mirror. My red hair is twisted up in an elegant swoop that was perfect when I had it done, but now…I don’t feel beautiful.
Not at all.
Not with the red mark across my throat or the pink in my cheeks.
Instead, I feel like I’m about to walk to the gallows and face my death.
Mom cups my face with a wan smile. “My little survivor. How about some liquid courage?”
I suck in a slow breath. I’ve never relied on alcohol the way my mother has. Too afraid to dull my senses. I need them to survive.
My racing heart is trying to catch up with my thoughts as I nod. Part of me hoped my mom would find a way to call this off when she saw how horrible Grant was. That she’d do something to protect me.
I should have known better. He’s a powerful man, and women are only as valuable as the partners they choose. Only I won’t stay valuable for long with Grant.
I’m pretty sure he’s going to break me the first chance he gets.
The memory of his hand around my throat, his tight grasp on my breast as I fought to be still. Is that what the rest of my life is going to look like after I walk down the aisle?
Can I give myself over to that monster?
How can anyone expect me to?
The panic returns, this time with more gusto. My instincts take over, and I give into them, lunging for my violin, locking it tight, and clutching it to my chest as I peek out of my dressing room.
The hall is empty, away from where Grant and the family gather to put the finishing touches on our wedding. I step carefullytoward the back door, feet moving me faster until I’m outside, bare feet meeting rough concrete.
Shit. Shoes.
