Wife.
What the actual hell is going on? I’m meant to be working for one year before returning to the convent where I am safe. The last time I looked, when you marry someone, it’s for life—surely.
The beast beside me—I can’t think of him as a man—has retreated into his dark form of hell, leaving me reeling.
I don’t want to marry him.
I don’t want to marry anyone, and if I did have a liking for that, it would never be to a man like him.
I will not marry him.
He can’t make me, and so I inwardly fume as I unravel an escape plan in my mind.
I’m not doing this.
I’m not going with him, and yet Morgan is heading to the convent with a warrant for my arrest. I can’t go back there because, as sure as I know that I hate that woman with every miserable piece of my heart, I know she will win. She always does, and being incarcerated on a murder charge is almost as horrific as marrying the beast beside me.
He is not a man.
His dark good looks attract for sure, but his personality withers the attraction the moment he opens his dirty mouth.
I hate him. I already know that because what man demands a woman marry him as if discussing the weather?
I maintain my vow of silence, and as we enter the airfield, I note the gleaming jet waiting for us. There are many men swarming around it, and I’m surprised to note their guns are firmly in their hands as they train their eyes on the horizon. At least I think they are because shades cover their eyes and their expressions are blank.
The beast doesn’t even flinch as we come to a stop at the foot of the aircraft and the men form a wall between the steps and the car door.
Despite my animosity toward him, I’m intrigued, but won’t give him the satisfaction of my curiosity. The door opens, and he steps out and, without another look behind him, heads onto the aircraft. I remain in the car with a triumphant smile because manners maketh man, and I was right in my assumption that this one is a beast.
He reaches the top of the steps without looking back, and as he disappears inside the aircraft I am strangely annoyed at that. Does he really hold me in such contempt that he can’t bear to be polite even, and I’m shocked when one of the armed guards leans in and jerks his gun toward the door.
“Ma’am.”
“What?”
I glare at him and he says politely, “Please leave the car and board the plane.”
“No.”
He doesn’t falter and his voice doesn’t hold any alarm as he says quietly, “It is for your own safety. We had word there is a threat to you nearby and unless you wish to swap one captor foranother, one without your best interests at heart, you would be wise to do as I say.”
“What threat?”
I can only think of one threat in my life, and that’s the woman who self-styles herself as my stepmother.
“There is a convoy of patrol cars heading this way with a warrant for your arrest. Your jail cell is booked, and the judge and jury have already concluded that you’re guilty. The easiest way out of this is to board the plane and allow Mr. Ravera to work on your behalf to dismiss the warrant.”
“Him?”
This time I jerk my head toward the jet. “You mean he is my only shot at freedom? Well, thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather spend life in prison than go anywhere with that man.”
The sound of his gun being primed is enough of a warning to change my mind in an instant, and I huff, “Fine, but I want it on the record that I am being kidnapped and do not consent to any of this. When I get to London, I am heading straight to the Swiss embassy and calling my mother, and there is nothing you can do about that.”
He remains silent and merely stands to one side as I stumble out of the car, falling into step behind me as I hurry up the aircraft steps.
Tears sting as I contemplate my predicament, and as I enter the aircraft, a smiling attendant points to a seat nearby.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Zaferelli. Please strap in; we will be airborne within minutes.”