Page 25 of Heartless Vows

The stroll down the hall only reinforces how much bigger and stronger he is than me. I swallow and fix my purse over my shoulder as my parents hover by the front door, obviously waiting for me to say goodbye to our hosts, but Giorgio gestures for them to lead the way down the hall without releasing my arm.

He escorts me down the stairs and opens the car door for me. Before I can slip into my seat, he pulls me flush against him and leans down to murmur in my ear.

“Sleep well tonight,mia topolina, because tomorrow I’m going to explore every inch of you over and over again, until there’s no doubt who you belong to.”

My mind blanks even as adrenaline and lust rush through my veins. I blink and blindly accept his help as he guides me into my seat. As reality teases the edges of my mind, I cling to the addictive sensations he spurred within me, avoiding the panic rising in me with every ounce of energy I have.

If I think about what just happened in that bathroom, I’ll never be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

With my eyes open but seeing nothing, I ride in silence until my mother’s voice breaks my stupor.

“I’ll talk with you after our dinner reservation. Do not leave the house between now and then, unless someone from the Vivaldi family requests your appearance.”

She doesn’t wait for my response before accepting the attendant’s hand and exiting the vehicle. I take a deep, steadying breath, and follow her into the horrorville I’ve called home my entire life.

With my mind reeling but the house too busy with the staff running through their chores to chance doing less legal tasks on my computer, I close myself in my room and take a quick shower. As I watch the bubbles disappear down the drain, part of me laments losing the lingering scent of Giorgio’s cologne, but I shove the thought to the far corner of my mind and focus on surviving the evening.

Any thoughts of tomorrow will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m stretched too thin emotionally to handle more.

After dressing, I putter around my room for an hour or two, assuring myself the stashes of cash and other gear—most of which I realize won’t be for me anymore—remain hidden as I pretend to clean. When I realize Tristan won’t be home for another two hours, I settle in front of my computer and complete another week and a half of college assignments with relative ease, only opening my textbook a handful of times.

I slam my book closed and grind my teeth as a wave of futility washes over me.

My parents washed years’ worth of studying down the drain in less than a day. My escape plan won’t work, not without major changes. In fact, the secondary and emergency exits will only land my brother in a worse situation than he is now.

I power off my computer, avoiding any rash decisions, and push my chair in before sliding my phone in my back pocket and rushing out the side door to meet Tristan as he launches himself out of the van the second the attendant opens the door.

I thank Mr. Hearthright and, after a quick discussion, he agrees to extend tomorrow’s activities until after dinner.

The band around my chest loosens as I enjoy Tristan’s enthusiastic retelling of his day. He scarfs down dinner and bounces in his seat, eager to tell his online friends about his adventure. I soak up his happiness as I pick at my food, and after hanging out in his room for a little while, I realize I can’t put offsharing this news for fear of our mother telling him in the most hurtful way possible.

“Hey, Tristan, I bet my day was crazier than yours.”

He sighs, rolls his eyes, and bounces his ball off the wall again before responding.

“How can you say that when I already told you I fed a giraffe at the zoo today? Its tongue wasblue, Rora.Blue.”

“Oh, it’s crazier than that,” I say as I pretend to flip through the nearest book on his headboard.

“Really?”

I take a deep breath and prepare to rip off the theoretical Band-Aid now that I’ve piqued his interest.

“Yep. I’m getting married.”

He purses his mouth in the most adorable display of disgust.

“Why would you do that?”

I shrug. He rolls his eyes.

“Mamma and Papà said you have to, didn’t they?”

I nod.

“Well, did you meet him? Do you like him? Is he handsome? I’m going to marry someone pretty and smart, like you. Is he nice? Also, this isnotas crazy as feeding a giraffe.”

I laugh and toss the book onto his bedside table, relieved at his response.

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