“One can wish.”
She turns away and I know the moment her eyes fall on the dress because she spins back to face me, mouth open in a surprised O.
“One more thing,” I say, reaching into my pocket to take out the phone. I toss it to her, and she instinctively reaches out to catch it.
She looks down at it, then up at me.
“Never gave you an engagement present. Be good, Cristina,” I say and walk out the door.
6
Cristina
I stand there staring at the phone in my hands, not believing it. When I touch the screen, it comes to life. There’s no passcode.
There’s a missed call. When I check it, Damian’s name pops on the screen. I look at the contact list and his is the only number programmed. He must have called it in order to save his number in here.
“Are you ready, miss?” one of the women asks.
I look at her. “Just a minute,” I say and walk toward the window, turning my back to them.
I dial Liam’s number. He answers on the first ring, and I instantly feel a combination of relief and elation.
“Hello?” he says again when I don’t speak right away.
“Liam. It’s me. Cristina.”
“Cristina?”
I smile, realizing that smile feels strange on my face. Almost like I’ve forgotten how to do it.
“It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“I don’t recognize the number.”
“It’s a new phone. Damian just gave it to me. Well, he tossed it at me and left, so I guess it’s mine.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the house in Upstate New York.”
“Dad told me what’s happening. Are you okay?”
I glance at the ring on my finger. “I have to be. How about you? How are you?”
“I’m all right. Worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, not sure I will. “Are you still staying with your mom?”
“I go on weekends. I have to be in the city for school.”
“Miss?” one of the women says.
I turn to her, and she mouths that they need to get started.
“I have to go.”
“Already? Can’t we talk for a minute?”
“I can’t right now. But I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Cris?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re really going to do it? Marry that man?”
Backing up, I slump on the edge of the bed because the reality of this hits me like a fist to my belly. I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands.
“Miss? We need to dry your hair.”
“I don’t have a choice, Liam. The alternative is worse.”
“How can—”
“I have to go. I’m sorry.” I disconnect the call. I need to get through this evening. This night. And if I keep talking to Liam, I’m going to break down.
I steel my spine and stand, looking back at the dress.
It’s black, not white. Not that I care because this wedding is a sham, but this dress and the veil are more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding.
“Are you ready?” one of the women asks as I lift the lace veil, feeling the weight of it. I wonder if that’s in my head because it’s a delicate lace even as dense as the pattern is.
I turn to the woman. “Yes,” I say, dropping the length of it.
7
Cristina
It’s fully dark when Damian returns more than an hour later. One of the women is finishing packing her things while the other puts the final pin into my hair to hold the veil in place. It drags along the floor behind me, and I can’t help but think it’d be pretty under different circumstances.
The dress itself is close fitting made of a soft organza silk, like the white dress he had me wear to that party that wasn’t a party at all. It reaches my ankles and has long trumpet sleeves and a high neck with a section of lace that matches the veil across the bodice. A dangerously high slit runs along the front of my right thigh, and with every move, I’m very aware of how naked I am underneath. Just like the other night.
Damian’s request.
No, not request. Damian’s requirement.
Dick.
I drop the lace of the veil I’m holding on to and look up at him as the woman steps away. She gives him a coquettish smile that makes me want to punch her.
He’s wearing black on black. Fitting.
My eye is drawn to the cuff link he adjusts, a deep red jewel to match the red diamond on my ring, and in his lapel is a single blood red rose so much like the roses he sent me must once have been. This one, though, isn’t dead.
It’s striking, all that black and the blood red against it.
He’s striking.
But tonight, so am I. And I see the impact in his eyes as they lock on mine for a long minute before sliding over me.
The idiot woman starts to talk.
“Get out,” he says, cutting her off without looking away from me.
She looks shocked but recovers quickly. They both scurry, all heels and hair and perfume disappearing out of the room.
He steps toward me.
I don’t back up. I lick my lips instead as I tilt my head back to look up at him. He stands so close I feel the heat of his body. Mine thrums along with the strange vibration coming off him. Almost like our bodies have their own ritual, a sort of mating dance.
He lowers his gaze to the lace bodice. The fingertips of his right hand find my hip, grazing the curve of it up over the arc of my waist. He meets my eyes before wrapping his fingers around to my lower back, the flat of his hand spanning the width of it as he tugs me close. I can feel him, feel his erection against my belly.
And I want him.
“You start something in me,” he says, grinding against me. “I’m going to start it in you.”
Before I can speak, he pushes me backward, so I drop onto the bed, half lying on my elbows.
He crouches down between my legs.
I look at his dark head, unable to move away. He grips a hip with one hand while with the other, he pushes the slit of the dress over and up. All it takes is a few inches to expose me, and the sudden cold makes me gasp.
Damian drags his gaze from my pussy to my eyes, then back.
I’m laid out like a feast. A feast for him.
All I can do is watch as his hands come to either side of my pussy. A little pressure and I’m open to him. He looks at me. Just looks at me. I bite my lip, but I can’t close my legs. I don’t want to. Instead, I feel the heat of his gaze, feel the damp between my legs.
Without a word, he closes his mouth over my clit. His tongue is wet and soft, the sucking motion making me gasp as I drop my head back and bite my lip, drawing blood.
He licks the length of me from one hole to the other, then flicks my clit with his tongue. Just when I think I can’t take another moment, when I’m on the edge of orgasm, he’s up on his feet, pulling me to mine.
I stumble.
He wraps a powerful arm around my lower back, cradling me, holding me to him as he looks at me with his nearly black eyes. His lips glisten, and I smell myself on him. When he kisses me, I open to him, tasting myself, and as wrong as it is, I want more.