Page 71 of Vengeful Lies

I close my eyes momentarily, reminding myself just to get this over and done with so we can get married, and I can get my fucking guns back and then run away from whatever bullshit this is stirring within me.

“I think that’s a perfect fit,” the sales associate says as she tightens the corset on my back even more. I almost keel forward from how suffocatingly tight it is.

The alcohol was meant to help, but right now, I feel like everything is spinning.

“Do you love it? It fits you like a glove. Stunning, really,” Rya gushes as she stands and approaches me with a third glass of champagne, holding it out to me. Without a word, I grab the glass, throw it back in one go, and then hand it back to her. Fuck etiquette right now. I’m trying my hardest not to freak the fuck out.

I never wanted marriage. I wasn’t made for it. And although I know all of this is fake, my heartbeat is trying to kick through my ribcage.

“Jewel, are you okay?” Rya asks, carefully placing a hand on my shoulder.

I offer a tight smile and nod my head.

“Happy with this one?” I ask Eli through gritted teeth.

He stands and prowls toward me, his gaze taking in every detail before he stops in front of me.

“I think any dress you put on would be perfect,” he says matter-of-factly, but then his hand runs up the outside of the dress, bunching it as his fingers trail up my skin. “But you also have amazing legs. What about a slit up the skirt to show them off?” He smirks, and the heat from my anxiety mixes with something else—desire. I need to be grounded again because I feel like I’m spiraling right now, and I keep my gaze locked with his, as if it’s the only thing keeping me here.

“I’d like to be left alone with my fiancée for a moment,” he announces. Rya and the sales associate share a brief glance and then leave us alone in the room. The moment they’re gone, I storm around him, grab the bottle of champagne, and start chugging.

He snatches it from me. “Hey!” I demand. He steps into my space and turns me so I face the full-length mirror. His hands come around to my front as he stands behind me. “What are you doing?”

“Look at yourself,” he calmly instructs.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to see myself in this dress. I’ve struggled with looking directly at myself this whole time. He grabs under my jaw and tilts my head up. I want to look away but can’t because he holds me in place.

“Do you want to know what I see?” he asks as his hands bunch the front of my dress. He then begins trailing his fingers over the exact same spot he suggested I get the split.

“A ticket to your family’s business,” I snark back.

“A powerful woman,” he insists. “A woman who doesn’t run from a challenge and hits her fears head-on.”

“And what do you think my fear is, Mr. Monti?” I breathe out, unable to ignore his fingers caressing my skin. Unable to look away from the view of us in the mirror.

“Marrying me… or anyone else. Commitment. Having a family.”

My eye twitches at the last comment. It was dead on and too close to my truths and vulnerabilities, as they’ve started surfacing these previous few weeks. I smile with twisted hatred at his insight. I adjust my foot slightly and bring the heel of my shoe down hard on his foot.

He grins as I press down harder. His hands continue to trail upward, then tuck under the dress and into my panties.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you fuck me in this wedding dress. Besides, I’m on my period, motherfucker.” I lean back into him, purposefully pressing all my weight onto the heel, digging into his foot. It must hurt, but it doesn’t show in his expression.

His other hand wraps around my throat, and he smiles as he holds me against him. “You forget red is my favorite color.”

“This is a $100,000 dress.”

“The worth of the dress means fuck all when it’s the woman beneath it I want to unravel.”

I try to move away, but he tightens his grip. “You might not think this dress, this ring, or this wedding is for you. But you are my gift to unwrap until our agreement comes to an end. You think this dress is for everyone else? I couldn’t give a fuck what they think. It’s about my wife dressing forme.It’s about my wife tempting me even before she meets me at the end of the aisle. You look delectable in every dress you’ve tried on. It’s not the dress that’s the problem. It’s time you submit to this agreement entirely.”

His thumb circles my sensitive clit, and I want to wring his neck as much as I want him to continue. “So why don’t we have a momentary truce?” he suggests.

“Your mother is standing outside this room,” I whisper-shout.

“I’m not thinking about my mother, Kitten.” He presses himself more firmly against me. Through all the material, I can barely feel him, but I know he’s hard. His hand slips lower, and his fingers feather against my folds.

“This is sick,” I say, conscious of how heavy my flow is right now.

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