Page 68 of Captive Bride

And then I put on my lace-up, thigh-high boots. They make me feel powerful and are better than having to wear heels all the time.

I let my hair down and tousle it over my shoulders before checking my reflection for a final time in the mirror.

Nervous butterflies twist in my stomach as they usually do. Whenever I’m around Tristan, or in the same vicinity as him, I feel happy and yet so nervous and excited.

I walk down to the dining room, and it’s just us at the huge table. There are candles lit and soft music playing.

Tristan is there, looking casual in a cashmere shirt and slacks.

“What will you drink, baby?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Usually, Merc and Benny dine with us at night, but they’re not here.

Tristan opens a bottle of red and brings it over to the table. He pours me a glass, and I look at him the entire time, wondering what this could all be about.

The chef comes out and introduces himself. He tells me the menu items for the night. It’s a five-course meal, and it sounds like it’s going to be very elegant.

I’m really hungry after my day of walking so many miles around the place.

But I savor the wine because it’s like the best bottle I’ve ever tasted. Tristan seems to be a wine aficionado. He seems to be an aficionado of a great many things.

When the chef brings out the first course, I decide it’s time to break the ice.

“So, Tristan, what is this about? You have me feeling worried.”

He sips his wine thoughtfully and swishes it around in the glass.

“I do have something to tell you, Isobel. But I’m afraid you’re not gonna like it,” he says, looking at me determined and businesslike.

I think I know what he’s going to tell me, and I don’t want to know. I don’t want it to come true. I know it must be about the ongoing war with my family.

Why else would he call me down here and want to have this private conversation?

“What is it? I can handle it. Please just tell me,” I say, just wanting to get it over with.

He’s sitting close to me, closer than ever. He always does.

He places his hand on my own and says, “Your father knows where you are, Isobel. The battle lines have been drawn.”

“What? What are you talking about, Tristan? I thought they didn’t know about this place. How did things end up this way?” I ask him.

“I don’t know, baby. Maybe they have spies here. Maybe they’ve spotted all my guys coming in and out of the city. I just don’t know. But he knows you’re here, and we have to prepare for the worst.”

I try to tame my raging heart. All I can think about is how much I hate my father at this moment for doing this to me and to my life. Why can’t he just leave us alone?

Likely, he never thought I could never fall for Tristan Montague. But I have. I will never go back to the Governor or his stupid mansion.

I will never go back to my old life. I’d rather die first.

I think of something to say, anything.

“Well Tristan, can’t we just run away somewhere? You must have houses all over the world. Let’s just pick one and go there. My father will never find us,” I say, pleading with him.

He doesn’t even take a minute to think about my suggestion. His intent is to have this war with my father.

He looks at me unsmiling and says, “No, Isobel. It can’t be like that. I don’t run from a fight; you know that. It would ruin my family and my honor to run away from this.”

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