Page 2 of Stolen Vows

"And now, crying?" he snaps at me. "You can’t cry your way out of everything, Cara. What did you see? Did you see a woman go through here?"

"Yes," I breathe, finally, pointing down towards the side hall. I feel a stab of guilt, knowing that I’m going to make it harder for this woman to escape, but whatever she’s done, it’s angered my father. And he’s always telling me that everything he does, he does for my benefit, so I should be honest with him.

Shouldn’t I?

He releases me for a moment and turns to his men in the entryway..

"Along the east corridor!” he yells to them. "She’s probably going to the garden. Stop her before she gets there...!”

In the brief moment I have from under his scrutiny, I realize that my leg is throbbing. I glance down and see that I have managed to cut it, right along the edge of my right calf. I had been so scared before that I hadn’t noticed it, but the sight of the blood seeping through my pastel pink pajama bottoms makes my tears come faster.

"Oh, for God’s sake," my father mutters when he turns his attention back to me. He stoops down, yanking up the leg of my pajama pants to inspect the wound beneath it. It doesn’t look too bad, just a cut from a loose nail, but it still makes me feel a bit dizzy. I turn my head away from it, but then I feel my father’s hand on my shoulders, pulling me to my feet.

"See? This is why you need to stay in bed," he tells me, his voice less angry as he pulls me back towards my room. "You’ll get hurt. You have to listen to me; it’s the only way you’ll be able to stay safe. You understand?"

The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument. I know he expects me to nod along. I do as I’m told, agreeing silently, and praying that this will be enough for him to let me get back to bed.

"Good girl," he mutters, and he pushes open the door and leads me inside. "I’ll send up one of the maids to take care of your leg."

"Can I see Misha?” I ask hopefully. The maids all live on the adjoining property and have been part of my life for years. Mishahas always been my favorite since she is the kindest, sweetest lady. Plus she always seems to have some kind of candy on her when I need something to distract from a bruised elbow or scraped knee.

"Mmm," he replies, as he heads for the door, and even as he leaves, I know that he has half-forgotten what he promised me. I scurry to the bathroom.

The look on the face of that woman I saw keeps playing in my mind. Who is she? Where is she going? Did they find her? I pointed them in the right direction to go after her, so if she is caught, then it might be because of me...

I brush those thoughts aside as I wash the blood from my hands. Like Dad always says, he just wants the best for me. He wants me to be safe. He would never do anything against my best interests. That’s why he works so hard to provide a good life for me, so the least I can do is tell him where that woman rushed off to in return.

And yet, as I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I can’t help but wonder what scary things she might have been running from.

1

Cara

PRESENT DAY

Smoothing the dress, I pick a loose thread from the fabric, tossing it to the plush hotel carpet below.

I study myself in the mirror—naturally blonde hair pulled back from my face, large blue eyes trying their hardest not to look disinterested.

I blink a few times, putting on the sweet expression that Dad approves of. That’s it—now I look perfect.

I have to, because the way I look is pretty much the only thing I have control over today.

Outside, the sun is shining, pouring in golden light through the enormous windows that frame the side of this room.

The furnishings are luxurious, from the red velvet chaise lounge to the dressing table that looks like it could have been plucked straight from some princess fantasy.

I’m feeling more medieval peasant girl than royalty right now as I prepare to marry the man my father has chosen for me.

Marry.

That word dances around my head, feeling almost surreal, as though it must apply to someone else entirely. This can’t be happening—not to me.

My father’s spent years guarding my body like it’s some priceless object. Now he’s handing me over as if my opinion on the matter means nothing to him.

The man he chose is Mario Manciotti. He’s waiting just a few hundred yards away from me downstairs in the packed grand ballroom of the hotel where the wedding is taking place.

My wedding to a man I don’t really know.

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