Page 15 of The Proposal

He sighs as he closes the small distance between us. “Turn around,” he grumbles.

I do as he asks, and a wave of goose bumps prickle down my arm when his fingertips graze my shoulder blades while he gathers my long hair and sweeps it aside.

I hold my breath as he goes to work, undoing the hooks on my dress. His warm breath and the heat radiating from his closeness send electric shivers coursing through me, like little livewires sparking beneath my skin.

I don’t like how acutely aware I have become of this man’s presence in the short time we’ve been locked in this room together. He has my emotions in utter turmoil. I feel like I’m trapped in a dangerous web, caught somewhere between hatred and lust.

The moment I’ve been dreading all week has finally arrived. This feels more overwhelming than the concerns I carried yesterday over the wedding night, because that was just one moment.

This feels so much bigger.

I’m about to leave everything I know behind and move to another side of the world with a man I barely know. That’s a whole new level of fear.

The bloodied sheets have yet to be revealed, but that humiliating display awaits us when we get downstairs. Is Dante’s research going to pass the test? I have no idea. It’s just another thing to feel sick about.

My suitcases have already been collected. When Lucia delivered breakfast to our room earlier, one of my father’s men came up with her to gather my belongings.

I got the impression it was Papa’s way of reminding me that this sham marriage was going ahead, whether I liked it or not. I may be an adult now, but I’ve never had control over my own life. I’ve spent it catering to my father’s every need and all his ridiculous demands.

If there’s one silver lining in all this, I won’t have to live under his iron thumb anymore. I only wish I could say the same for my little sister. I worry she’ll meet the same fate as poor Mamma without me to defuse things when she pushes him too far.

I’m already dressed and ready; I hardly slept last night. I’m currently sitting on the side of the bed, knotting my hands in my lap. Dante is beside me, packing the rest of his belongings into his suitcase.

He hasn’t said a single word to me this morning. The silence hangs heavy, and everything feels tense and awkward. I can’t help but wonder if this is a glimpse into my life from here on out. If it is, it’s going to be a miserable, lonely existence.

I side-eye him when he zips up his suitcase and places iton the floor beside my feet. “Stand up,” he orders, and I’m so knotted up on the inside that I don’t even argue … I simply do as he asks.

He seems extra grumbly this morning, but I can’t blame him. I can tell he’d rather not be married to me, either. It makes me wonder what my father offered in return for my hand. I doubt it was anything legal.

Leaning forward, he roughly tugs the top sheet off the bed and tosses it on the floor. The bloodied fitted sheet is next, which gets bundled into a tight ball and shoved under his arm. He reaches for the handle of his suitcase, manoeuvring it to the same side as the sheet. I’m surprised when his spare hand reaches for me. He laces his strong, warm fingers through mine, and the comfort it brings anchors me, grounding me in the moment.

“You ready?” he asks.

I want to cry, scream, and beg him not to take me away from my sister, not to condemn me to a life I’ll hate, but I know it would fall on deaf ears. My father would never allow it.

I lift my chin, summoning whatever bravado I can muster, and with a resigned sigh, I grip his hand tighter and force the words out. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Papa and his men, as well as a few of my elderly family members who stayed at the estate last night, gather in the foyer like a pack of ravenous piranhas. The fact that witnessing sheets stained with a woman’s virginal blood could be the highlight of their morning is both depraved and beyond barbaric.

The sight fills me with loathing and contempt for each and every one of them.

I scan the crowd, searching for my little sister, but she’s nowhere to be found. Will I even be allowed to say goodbye to her? Who knows when I’ll see her again?

We’ve had almost a week to prepare for this, so all the important words have been said. I even managed to hug her briefly this morning when she brought up our breakfast, assuring her I was okay. But it wasn’t nearly enough.

When we descend the final step, Dante places down his suitcase, drops my hand and steps towards my father. The way he shoves the balled-up sheets into his chest tells me he’s just as disgusted by this stupid ritual as I am.

Dante retreats a step as my father begins unravelling the fabric. When he holds it high in the air, cheers erupt from the crowd, and they see exactly what they’ve all been waiting for … a stain of red blood illuminating the stark white sheet.

The poor unsuspecting fools.

Unbeknownst to them, I get the last laugh because it’s not mine, and my virtue remains intact.

My husband reaches for my hand again—clearly unwilling to stick around for this ridiculous spectacle—and without a word, he leads me towards the front door.

The moment I step outside, I take a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.We actually pulled it off.The weight of what he’s done is not lost on me. I pause, turning to face him. “Thank you,” I say with gratitude lining my voice.

Dante’s expression remains neutral and impossible to read. He responds with a shrug. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

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