Page 111

He knows.

I wasn't sure what or how much, but he knew enough.

I swallowed past the lump of fear lodged in my throat. "I won't be."

Pulling away from the warmth of his body, I rushed up the stairs, feeling his eyes on me with every step.

When I had gotten halfway, he called out to me. "Put on the Biancamaria by Antonio Riva I got for you in Milan."

I gripped the rail. "The ivory mikado silk one? That's a ballgown."

"I know. I have something…special…prepared for us tonight."

The pause ahead of "special" lingered in the air—a threat.

He knows.

Unable to speak, I nodded and continued the rest of the way upstairs, my legs trembling with each step.

When I entered my room, the mikado dress was already laid out on the bed.

I slipped my fingers over the tightly woven fabric. It was a beautiful ivory silk with a sweetheart neckline and corset bodice that flared into a full skirt, with ribbon detailing highlighted by thin strips of black.

It was stunning.

The girl I used to be would have gasped at this dress. Would have spun in front of the mirror, imagining the life that came with it. That girl would never have noticed that the door to the balcony had been locked from the outside.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't really a ballgown.

It was a wedding gown.

CHAPTER 31

SABRINA

Ipaired the dress with flats instead of heels…just in case I needed to run.

It was just a coincidence that this was a wedding dress.

There was no reason to go into full panic mode.

If I were thinking rationally, I would tell myself that it wasn't even a traditional wedding dress. It was ivory and black. Sebastian wouldn't let his bride get married in anything but a haute couture, custom-made dress by one of the oldest fashion houses in Italy.

Especially if his motives were to send a message to my father.

And what message was that?

I stared at my reflection, the mirror throwing back a face I barely recognized.

Beneath the careful application of makeup, my skin looked pale as bone, my eyes too wide, too knowing. The woman in the mirror was both a stranger and someone familiar, caught between the innocent girl who'd arrived in Italy and whatever Sebastian was turning me into.

Would it turn out that he had captured a queen or a pawn in this fucked-up chess game he and the judge were playing with one another?

I adjusted the bodice again. The dress fit perfectly and yet was too tight, the corset structure pressing against my ribs until each breath became deliberate, shallow. The structured silk rasped against my sensitized skin, a constant reminder of my captivity in luxury.

I'd thought about tucking my passport down into the corset bodice but decided it was too risky.

Just then, in my reflection, I caught sight of a black strap peeking out from under the bed.