Page 10 of Trapped

The key to daytime drinking was doing it slowly. Little sips of alcohol, all day. Sometimes, I didn’t realize how wasted I was.I’d grab a cup, miss it, and never feel drunk because being drunk was normal. Sober was chaos. Sober was panic attacks.

My stepmother, Zofia, a tall blonde in a form-fitting black gown, scowled at me. “Don’t drink too much. A Romanov woman doesn’t slur her vows.”

“I’m not planning on slurring anything.”

Zofia lifted the bottle from my hands and set it on the vanity. “All eyes will be on you. Our family, your future husband’s family. If you bring shame to us, there is no coming back.”

“I know.”

I’d given a lot of thought to how Dimitri’s people, his colleagues, and even the side piece he assumed I was clueless about would witness his humiliation. After today, he’d be the laughingstock of the Bratva.

The promise of his destruction kept me sane, making me keep my mouth shut when Dimitri talked down to me. He could do whatever he wanted. I had the best revenge planned for him.

But this morning, when I woke up to fresh bruises on my arms, doubt slithered in my head like a cold snake. If my deal with Santino didn’t go through and Dimitri caught me trying to escape, the damage he’d inflict on me could be permanent. It could be fatal.

The stylist backed off, and the makeup artist took her place. She squirted foundation onto her hand, dabbed the brush into it, and swiped it across my face. She paid particular attention to the hollows under my eyes.

Zofia checked her Rolex, sucking in her cheeks. She’d been a nightmare all week. Dad had ordered her to watch me, and shestuck to my side, pestering me about last-minute changes to seating arrangements, makeup trials, and picking a hairstylist.

“I hope you’re not getting any ideas about backing out. Because there’s no walking away from this. Not without consequences. Cover that up,” she barked to the makeup artist, pointing at the faint purple marks on my arm.

The girl continued her work in silence, her brush strokes methodical.

The door creaked open, and a young girl peeked in. “Are you ready for the dress?”

“Bring it in,” Zofia commanded, her tone brooking no argument. The girl disappeared and returned moments later, struggling with the weight of the gown. The dress was ridiculous, as if someone had tried to trap a wedding in a cage.

Zofia took it from the girl and held it up, inspecting every inch and seam. “This is what a Romanov bride wears. Strong, elegant.”

The dress seemed to mock me with its pristine white fabric. A symbol of commitment when all I felt was trapped. This wasn’t the dress of my dreams. I’d always wanted something vintage, with delicate lace. But no, they had insisted on this modern monstrosity.

“It’s beautiful,” I lied, my voice hollow.

She smiled. “Now, let’s get you into it.”

I was dying to tear the dress apart, but any defiance would cost me. So I stood there as Zofia manhandled me into the gown.

“There.” Zofia stepped back, her lips curving slightly. “Solnyshko, you look perfect.”

I looked like a doll. I was Dimitri’s flawless bride, dressed to play the part while planning my escape.

I pasted on a smile and met Zofia’s gaze in the mirror. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” Zofia said, her tone softening just a fraction as she smoothed a wrinkle in my skirt. “Your guests are waiting.”

I followed Zofia out, the satin and tulle rustling. The cold weight of her hand on my back reminded me I was being pushed, not led.

Downstairs, the sound of distant chatter grew louder. I kept moving, but all I thought about was the man I’d be throwing myself at. Was Santino a better choice than Dimitri? Would he even come? What if he decided not to and left me here to face Dimitri’s wrath?

I needed to call Santino.

I mingled with guests for as long as I could stand and then headed to the bathroom. I stuffed myself in and locked the door. Finally alone, I pulled my phone from a hidden pocket in my dress, my hands trembling as I dialed Santino’s number.

The line connected.

“Delilah?”

His velvety murmur stroked my ear.

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