Page 92 of Coerced Wife

And he does exactly that.

After serving a breakfast of French toast with berries and honey and a cup of steaming mint tea, he runs me a bath sprinkled with rose petals. While I soak in the warm water, he massages my shoulders with lavender oil and gives my feet the same treatment. He heats a towel on the warming rack, pats me dry, and rubs body lotion into my skin, paying special attention to my stomach, before wrapping me up in a fluffy robe. Then he makes me sit at the basin with my head tilted back so that he can wash my hair and massage conditioner into my scalp. He twists a smaller towel around my hair and orders me to recline on the daybed in the sun while he makes the bed and tidies the room.

When that’s done, he prepares an early light lunch of sliced cheeses, cold meats, olives, breads, and tomato chutney that he lays out with freshly squeezed orange juice, a jug of lemon-infused water, and an ice bucket with non-alcoholic champagne on the coffee table in the room.

“For you and Tersia and Livy,” he explains. “In case you get hungry. I suggest you eat something even if you don’t feel like it. You’re going to need your strength.”

He leaves the room to return a moment later with a black clothes bag that hangs to the floor. He exchanged the pajama bottoms for sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“Your dress,” he says, carefully laying it out on the bed.

I had three fitting sessions with the dressmaker. Saverio chose the design, but he hasn’t seen me in it.

“I’ll give you girls some space.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll get ready in the guest suite.”

When he turns for the door, I say, “Sav.”

He stops and looks at me.

I want to ask him to reconsider, to give us both a chance at happiness, because his heart will always belong to the woman who broke it, but at the dark cloud that washes over his features as he no doubts guesses the direction of my thoughts, I only say, “Thank you.”

He’s been incredibly sweet and considerate.

His mouth pulls up in one corner. “You’re welcome.”

The doorbell rings.

“That’ll be Livy,” he says, giving me a reassuring smile before walking from the room.

I blow out a painful, shaky breath.

Too bad his consideration is the kind you show someone to make up for hurting them. In this case, he’s soothing me now for the hurt he’s going to inflict later when he pushes a wedding ring over my finger.

Livy walks through the door, saving me from my somber thoughts. She wears leggings with a leopard print and a black, puffy-sleeved pirate shirt that ties with a string in the front.

“Sav put my bag in a spare room. I’ll get ready here so that I can drive with you to the church.” She rushes over, all but bouncing up and down with excitement. “How’s the bride?”

When she takes in my face, she stops. “Anya, what’s wrong?”

I smile. “Nothing.”

She pulls up a chair and sits down next to me. “I don’t know you since yesterday, my girl.”

I stare at her kind face, wishing I could borrow some of her inexhaustible optimism or better yet, tell her what’s truly bothering me. I haven’t told a soul why Saverio is marrying me. Sometimes, I’m not clear about his motivations myself. To be a father. To always have a convenient alibi at his fingertips. To protect me from Luigi because he needs me alive. To have a warm body to fuck without messy feelings getting in the way. To know he finally owns me in every way possible. To know his power over me is complete.

“What’s wrong, child?” Livy asks again, pulling me from my train of thought.

I consider my answer for a moment, and then, cracking under the unbearable pressure of the lie I’ve been carrying for all these months, I admit, “I’m scared.”

She takes my hand. “Of what?”

“That we’re making a mistake.”

“Oh, Anya.” She brushes a strand of hair from my forehead. “It’s only wedding jitters.”

“What if it’s not?”

She thinks for a beat before her eyes light up as if an answer suddenly came to her. “Ask yourself this. Can you picture your life without Sav in it?”

---