Page 26 of Rubies and Revenge

“So was thinking you could marry me.” I apply enough pressure that I think my acrylic nails might snap before they pierce his skin.

His thumb pulls down my bottom lip, pressing hard as he studies my face like he wants to paint it with something other than watercolor. “You shouldn’t use such a pretty mouth for speaking, darling.”

I jerk forward, teeth first, but he pulls his thumb back before I can bite it.

“Such a wild thing,” he muses. “I wonder how long it will take to break you.”

The words sink in, and more than his assault, more than his too-familiar touch, more than his leering glare, they send a wash of ice over my scalp and down my neck. Because he wouldbreak me, given the chance. And my parents would like to give him the chance.

I drag my nails down his arm, ripping his skin. “Let me go, Marcus.”

He steps forward, forcing me back until my shoulders smack against the stone wall of the antechamber, his hands somehow even tighter on my chin and elbow. If he shifts his grip just so and applies more pressure, he could strangle me. He could pin me against this wall and force more than his hands on me.

And I can’t do much about it. One mark on his pretty head, one drop of blood spilled, and it’d spark a war. But his trespassing on my body and the subsequent pain? It’d be swept away and hidden under the rug. Another woman ruined by a man.

Marcus towers over me to snarl in my ear. “You’re mine to hold, Zarina. Mine to marry. You made a promise I don’t intend to keep.”

I refuse to be just another woman who cowers and shudders away. I wrap my hand around his neck before he can flinch and press my fingers against his carotid. “Let me go. Now.”

He releases my chin finally, but only to brush over my knuckles like they’re a necklace rather than a noose. I grind my teeth and squeeze harder.

“Marcus!” Father’s voice booms through the entrance hall.

Marcus smirks with all the vicious intention of a starved predator. He taps the blood-red ruby engagement ring on my finger wrapped around his throat. “Until next time, darling.”

He releases me and steps out of my grip, glancing back at Father. Before he can turn, before Father can stop me, before I can stop myself, I rear back and slap him with my full strength. His head snaps with the force of it, and I shove him backward hard enough to make him stumble.

My chest shakes, but my voice does not. “Touch me again, and I’ll do my fucking worst, Marcus Accardi.”

“Zarina!” Father scolds.

Marcus holds up his hand. “Nothing happened, Ricci.” He says my father’s nickname like he’s speaking to a child, and it makes me want to slap him again. “Just a little caress between lovers.”

“Never,” I hiss.

Father stands between us, his back to me as he addresses the pig. “Marcus, leave us.”

He wiggles his fingers in a condescending wave. “Good night, darling.”

“Choke, Marcus.” I glare as he backs away with the same too-smug, lecherous look he wore when we arrived.

“Zarina Giovanna Gallo, behave yourself,” Father mutters.

The door thumps shut behind Marcus, and I snatch the handkerchief out of Father’s jacket pocket to wipe it over my face. Lipstick darkens the white fabric alongside smears of concealer, and yet not a speck of the disgust crawling over my skin comes off.

“What have you done?” Father spits the words at me through clenched teeth.

I rub off the rest of my lip color before shoving the handkerchief at his chest. “I saved myself from a lifetime of abuse and guaranteed murder.”

Father takes the fabric with an exasperated huff. “We know who Marcus is. We had a plan!”

“And what plan was that? Negotiate a no-wife-beating clause?”

He wrinkles his nose and looks away, and my fucking god, thatwasthe plan.

My mouth drops. I can still feel the pressure of Marcus’s fingers on my chin, his thumb on my lip, his grip around my neck. “No clause in any contract would ever keep that man’s hands to himself. You were fooling yourself. Both of you.”

“It doesn’t matter now, because we no longer have theleverage to negotiate anything.” He rubs over his face, as if he can wipe away the truth. When he drops his hand, shadows line his eyes and hollow his cheeks. The signs are there—have been there for months. But I didn’t pay attention.

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