Page 15 of Wedlocked

Matilda clucked her tongue. “I could never forget about you, Isabella. Pancakes or bacon and eggs?”

Isabella pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Both? You know I love everything you cook.”

“Someone around here has to appreciate me.”

“You know we all love you,” Isabella reproved with a grin. She turned that same grin on me when she said, “I thought I might find my future sister-in-law here, who could possibly resist Matilda’s cooking?”

Other than Ethan’s lovers, apparently? “Not me,” I answered.

She giggled. “Then we’ll probably run into each other here a lot.” She tilted her head to the side. “I’m glad to see my clothes fit you.”

I gaped. “This dress is yours?”

“Yes, along with the rest of the women’s clothes hanging in my brother’s closet, not to mention all the makeup and other women’s products. Ethan wanted you to have everything you needed, though I do believe he has a couturier coming later today to fit you for your wedding gown, as well as some other gowns and daywear.”

“That’s really not necessary,” I protested. “I have my own clothes at home.”

“True. Except, I doubt you have a wedding dress. And this is your home now. Besides which, I couldn’t imagine your family would allow one of our men into their home to pack your clothes, just as I couldn’t imagine my brother would allow you to leave here and go fetch them yourself.”

I took a deep sip of coffee, suddenly desperate for a caffeine hit. “Then I guess you know our marriage is solely a…business arrangement.”

She accepted a coffee from Matilda before she turned back to me, her brown eyes that glinted with hints of tawny-gold showing real concern. “I’m not so sure about that.” She cleared her throat. “What I am sure about my brother is that he’ll do whatever it takes as don to keep our family strong.”

“Anything?” I repeated numbly.

She nodded. “Pretty much. Having said that…I know there is still a decent man somewhere underneath the hardened guise that being a part of this fucked up family has created.”

While Matilda bustled around the kitchen, being a great employee by turning a blind eye and death ear to our conversation—and my dilemma—I knew Isabella would also never go against her brother to help me.

I’d have to find a way to help myself.

Chapter Nine

Sabrina

I stood in front of the cheval mirror in Ethan’s dressing room—our dressing room now, at least for as long as I was kept alive—while the couturier wrapped one swathe of bridal fabric around me after another. It wasn’t until my eyes lit up at a gorgeous piece that the couturier stepped back with a nod.

“That is the one, isn’t it?” she asked with a wide smile, her bright red lips a shade lighter than her dyed crimson hair. “You have great fashion sense. The seed pearls sewn into this fabric perfectly complement your gorgeous hair.”

“I do love it,” I said, despite the anxious fluttering in my stomach about the upcoming nuptials.

“Great. I’m thinking A-line and open-backed with a sweetheart neckline and regular straps.” She pursed her lips, her creative mind obviously ticking over with ideas. “I’ll add some lace applique to the bodice to really embellish it. What do you think?”

I nodded, going along with whatever she suggested. I was certain she’d make a beautiful gown, no matter my input. “It sounds lovely.”

“You have a gorgeous figure that will be so easy to flatter and enhance. I have some great ideas for some evening gowns too, along with some casual day wear. Your husband made it very clear no expense was to be spared filling up your closet.”

“He’s not my husband, not yet.”

“Oh, you don’t need a piece of paper to prove you’re already his, believe me.” She chuckled even as she unpinned the fabric. “I’ve never seen a man more besotted.”

Smitten. Besotted. Those words had been spoken by others who had no clue I was only his bride for as long as I continued to hold his interest. If a bullet wasn’t put through my head I’d likely be weighed down with bricks and thrown into the nearest lake. That I’d have any useful information dragged out of me first wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.

I might become his wife, but I would always be his enemy.

“You’ll be a beautiful bride,” the other woman gushed, her clever eyes scanning me up and down, as though imagining all the designs she’d create for me. She carefully packed the fabric I’d chosen into a bag. “Now I better run, as it is I’ll be up all night making your wedding gown so it’ll be ready for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?” I repeated in a mousy squeak, my pulse jerking into double beats.

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