Page 5 of Savage Vows

“Do take your time,” Artemis says. “I’ll have the tea ready whenever you’re done.”

Since civility is beyond me at the moment, I settle for nodding.

Once Artemis disappears back inside the mansion, I nod at Chiara. “With me.”

Nash leans against the vehicle, looking casual, though I know he’s anything but.

My soldier falls in step next to me, her pace matching mine as we make our way down the winding path, the crunch of gravel beneath our feet and distant birds the only sounds in the unnatural quiet.

The glass conservatory walls gleam in the late afternoon sunshine, and tension knots my shoulders.

As we near, I slow.

Seconds later, I see my future bride, lounging on a pink velvet chaise, her body draped in a gauzy material that barely hides her perfect, nude body. Her long, dark hair spills around her beautiful face and down her back in uncontrolled chaos.

What the fuck is she thinking?

A few artists stand around her, their easels set up in a semicircle, each one of them capturing a different angle of her bare form.

The instructor, presumably Gabriel Greaves, moves from one canvas to the next. Fury lashes me. He’s the same fucking blond asshole Alessia had been snuggled up to in her recent social-media post.

I want her out of here, now.

“Is that her?” Chiara asks quietly.

“Yeah.” With every damn one of her secrets revealed to the world.

Shoving down the hot burn of emotion, I pivot, and Chiara follows suit.

“She’s in there,” I say to Nash when we reach the SUV. “We’ll get her and be out of here in less than five minutes.”

With a nod, he opens the back door and then slides behind the steering wheel, ready to roll out.

Chiara on my heel, I head for the mansion, taking the front steps two at a time. Within five minutes, we’ll be off the property, and Alessia will have learned a few things about me.

I pull open the massive door and enter a world hundreds of years old. The floors are polished marble, veined with swirls of deep gray and gold. The soaring ceilings are adorned with intricate plasterwork. A grand staircase curves upward, flanked by dark wood banisters, and soft piano notes drift from an unseen room. Animated conversation hums in the distance.

By unspoken accord, we move toward the conservatory.

Inside, the humid air hits me, thick with the scent of orchids and paint. Jealousy and desire war in my chest—she’s more beautiful than any photo suggested, and the knowledge that others have seen her like this makes me murderous.

She startles, her beautiful, hazel eyes going wide.

Then she gasps as recognition flashes across her face—she’s seen my photos too. “Oh my God.”

As I stalk toward her, I shrug out of my suit jacket. The need to cover her, to hide her from these vultures, overwhelms me. “Show’s over.”

Gabriel steps between us. Brave, stupid man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands. “This is a private session?—”

“Back off.” Chiara moves in front of him and presses a hand forcefully to his chest.

Instantly he backs away. Smart choice. In my current mood, I might have snapped him in half. Or at least destroyed his hand.

Alessia scrambles to her feet, and the gauzy material slips from her. It pools around her feet, leaving her exposed.

Even now, she has no idea how much danger she’s in.

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