Page 7 of Borrowed Bride

Playing around that will be too easy.

He thinks he’s picked up just a regular street rat scraping for survival. He has no idea what I’m really capable of.

“Sure,” I say, slipping into an old persona I’ve used countless times to trick rich, hard men. “Do I get to know why you need a wife so quickly? You strike me as a man who can get anything he wants at the snap of his fingers.”

“I can,” Marco replies and he steps away. “But where’s the fun in that? Get dressed.”

He strides away from me and I step out of the puddle of fabric at my feet. Before I can make it off the stage though, he snaps his fingers in my direction.

Irritation immediately heats my blood. How obnoxious can this guy get?

“Wear that dress,” Marco says, pointing at the blue one I recently discarded. “It has a part to play too.”

A part to play? This guy talks like he’s in the middle of some gigantic puzzle that only he can see. As he leaves, the rest of his guards follow him, giving me a moment of privacy.

I force a few deep, calming breaths to try and ease the rabbit-fast patter of my heart. The dressing room is an enclosed oval; the only way in or out is through the curtains Marco just stepped through. I have no choice but to dress and head out to meet him.

“Breathe, Gianna,” I whisper, trying to comfort myself. “You’ve got this. Just another mark. Just another setup.”

Unfortunately, the sound of my own voice doesn’t calm me as much as I hope, and my fingers tremble as I step back into that dress. I’ve never felt something so soft and silky against my skin, but as lovely as it is, it disgusts me slightly. I haven’t showered in days. Wearing something this luxurious just feelswrong. I pluck at the fabric, trying to make myself comfortable but it clings to me like a second skin.

A new skin for a new life.

The dress is beautiful though. I just hope I don’t have to wear it for long.

“Miss?” The assistant from earlier pops her head through the curtain. Upon seeing me dressed, she hurries closer with a pair of silver, strappy heels in her hands. “Marco’s requested you wear these.”

“What about my boots?” I glance forlornly at my trusty brown boots set neatly beside my old, folded clothes.

“I’m sorry, Miss. He says you won’t need them any longer.”

There it is—that control he enjoys so much. He wants to control what I wear and what I do.

Do I play the part? Or do I push back?

“Thank you.” Smiling warmly at the assistant, I take the shoes from her and she dips her head, then hurries away.

I have a plan.

After fluffing what I can of my messy hair, I carry the strappy shoes in one hand and my bag of necessities in the other. My own comfortable boots warm my feet as I stride out of the dressing room and into the front of the store.

Marco waits by the door, having a hushed conversation with one of his guards—Frederick, I think he’s called? Marco’s ice-cold eyes dart to me for a second, then his entire stance freezes like a board when he sees the shoes in my hand and not on my feet.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Anyone with any knowledge of women knows you don’t wear shoes liketheseto travel. What kind of husband would you be, wanting me to break my ankle wearing these in the street?” I drop the fancy shoes into his hands as I glide past him with my head held high. “Those are party shoes,dear, not traveling ones.”

I expect him to grab me like he’s done before—and I’ll need hours of therapy to work out why him grabbing me by the throat got me so hot and bothered—but he doesn’t. Instead, Frederick opens the door for me, seemingly at Marco’s instruction, and we head outside. Umbrellas are immediately raised to keep the rain at bay and Marco strides out next to me.

The shoes stay in his hand.

Smiling to myself, I gather my dress around my knees and slide into the waiting limo when he opens the door for me. Inside, the seats are butter-soft white leather and I immediately sink into them with a soft groan.

Luxury feels so damn good.

The doors shut with a soft but ominous click behind Marco, sealing my fate.

The carpet is dark, and the ceiling is covered in multiple tiny lights that sparkle like stars. One side of the limo holds a small table filled with various glasses and bottles, all secured in place by rubber grips to prevent them from falling. Dark wooden paneling runs the length of the doors, and the faint smell of smoke lingers in the air.

---