Page 225 of Merciless Desires

My pajamas that I had worn last night were across the back of the vanity chair where I had left them, my gold hoop earrings were on the nightstand, and the shoes I had tried on before I came here were exactly where I had kicked out of them earlier today.

What the actual fuck?

I stood and pushed open the door that led to my own bathroom, finding all of my products in the shower, and even Annabella’s gold bracelet on the edge of the luxurious bathtub.

A sob ripped from my throat as I darted toward the tiny bracelet with pastel flower charms. This wasn’t mine. It needed to be with Annabella. I needed to be with Annabella.

I couldn’t stay here. I needed to be at home. I’d marry this monster, but I needed to be at home. I needed to look after Mamma, and I needed to look after the girls. That was my job. My sisters would fight every person who came into the house, and how would the staff know when Mamma needed her medicine? Or how much? Or which kind?

It couldn’t have been mandatory for me to be here with him just yet. I should have a moment to get familiar with being engaged.

I should have been given the chance to say goodbye.

I crumbled to the cold, cream-colored stone floor and cried. How long had had it taken Matteo’s men to gather all of my belongings and place them in this damn room?

They managed to do it during the supper. What did my sisters do? What did they think?

There was no way this could have been done in just a few hours. This was planned.

Papà had known he was giving me to Matteo tonight. He’d known. He’d known for a while.

And yet he hadn’t stopped to think about just how wrong this was.

It was a transaction, and I was the payment.

Chapter Six

MATTEO

Marcella hadn’t left her room in over a day. Was I that poor of company to keep?

Each dish sent up was returned untouched, and that was starting to piss me off. She needed to eat. I didn’t give a shit if she thought this was some sort of punishment if she refused to eat what my cooks prepared for her, but starving herself wasn’t the solution.

Her papà had told me as much as he could about his eldest daughter as he signed the contract I had drafted for our exchange. What she liked, what she disliked, and what I should expect until she warmed up to me.

If she warmed up to me.

Gaining her love might be a challenge, but it was something I was willing to work for.

I asked my cooks to leave the kitchen that I knew Marcella would state needed more color. Blacks and whites and grays were much easier to pair together when no additional colors were included. Now I had an emerald foyer that bled into the dining room and a sapphire den.

I wanted her to see the changes I had made for her. Wanted to see her face when she looked around the space that she had critiqued for being colorless, and for her to see that she was what would bring color into our home.

I wanted Marcella to know I was willing to make this work if she was.

Pounding chicken breasts until they were flat, I let them marinate while I prepared the breadcrumb coating. I was making chicken cutlets for her, something her papà said had been her favorite meal since she was small.

I wasn’t sure if this was going to be enough to get her out of her room, but I was willing to try.

Pushing through her bedroom door, I found my wife-to-be beneath the blankets. She stiffened as I sat on the edge of her bed and again when I coaxed the plush comforter off her face.

Marcella’s eyes were red and puffy, and she wouldn’t look at me fully.

“Eat,” I commanded, holding the plate toward her. “You haven’t eaten anything my cooks have prepared for you.”

Marcella’s lip curled. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“Are you now?” I asked.

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