Page 15 of Stolen Bride for the Don

He studies me quietly for a moment and demands louder now, “Come here, Andrea.”

It’s the first time I've heard him say my name; for some ridiculous reason, it makes me squeeze my thighs together. I climb out of bed in a daze and walk to him. I gasp when I see his stuff has been rearranged to make space for more clothes: female clothes.

I walk over to them, fingering the high quality materials. “They’re all in my size,” I realize.

“Of course.”

How long did I sleep? Was that how he was able to purchase an entire wardrobe for me? There are different tops. Summer dresses. Fancy dresses. Jeans. Pajamas. etc. There's even a separate drawer for underwear.

“Hudson…”

“It was all in your room. I just had Diane bring it in after I saw the havoc you wreaked in here,” he explains gruffly.

I go still and spin to face him. I have a lot of questions but only one seems to slip out. “Diane?” He has a girlfriend?

“She’s the housekeeper. I don’t fuck my staff, so you don’t have to worry about a jealous ex-lover in our household…if that’s what you’re thinking.”

That is exactly what I was thinking. Maybe not in those exact words. “I don’t care,” I say dismissively, but his mouth twitches with a smile. He doesn’t believe me?

“I don’t,” I insist.

“Okay. Okay.” He raises his hands. “You don’t need to get all worked up.”

“I’m not getting worked up.” I glare at him and say, “And what did you mean you had it brought over from my room? I have my own room?”

“Had,” he corrects. “You had your own room, but not anymore. You sleep in our bedroom or nowhere else.”

“So what? You’ve had these clothes all along and didn’t deem it fit to inform me?”

“You were in the middle of your fasting protest. What if you protested the idea of clothes in your own size?” His lips twitch as he speaks.

Is he mocking me? This fucker. “Do I even want to know how you guessed my size correctly?” I raise a hand up before he can answer. “You know what? Never mind. Just tell me about this deal you were presenting to me before I fell asleep.”

I walk out of the closet and into the bedroom. My chest was starting to do funny things. Am I going insane from having no human contact with anyone but him? Why should I find it sweet that he bought clothes for me? He kidnapped me and now he’s trying to force me to become engaged to him.

“Are we actually going to go through with the engagement and get married?” I ask.

“So, you’ve accepted my proposal then?”

“I need to know a few things before I can fully accept.” I pace in front of the fireplace. It’s not as if the bastard gave me much choice. He has me hemmed firmly in place with his threat to my brother.

“Yes, we’re going to go through with the engagement and we’ll marry within the month,” he answers.

“A month?” I gulp. “That’s too fast.”

“Ezra got married within a week,” he points out, reminding me again that he seems to know everything about me: my family, my clothing size, my favorite body care products while I know next to nothing about him.

“Oh,” I reply for lack of a better response.

“And while you can be your prickly self when we’re in private, in public you have to play the part of a loving fiancée, and later, wife,” he states, with no room for argument. “As my bride, you will be expected to attend events, where you will dress and act the part of my devoted companion. You will look delicious enough to eat, but no one will dare touch you without risking losing their hand, so you have nothing to worry about. But if there is so much as an inkling that you do not worship the ground I walk on, our facade is broken. Your eyes will be glued to me at all times; you will hang off my arm like your life depends on it all while showering me with all the love and respect a man of my position demands.”

He stares me down, challenging me to protest, then adds, “If the past few days are any indication, I know you don’t cower to threats, so you will surely earn the respect of the other families.”

I gulp again. Pretend to be in love with him? I glance at his handsome face. He already haunts all my private moments, so that shouldn’t be too much of a hardship if I didn’t genuinely loathe his very existence. I don’t know what he reads on my face, but it makes him give me a victorious smirk. He infuriates me…the power he holds over me and how helpless I am.

The anger propels me forward; and before I know what I’m doing, I raise my hand at him.

CHAPTER 11

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