Pushing open the door, I meet Taylor out in the corridor—though she is murmuring into her phone, something about the wedding cake arriving in one piece. I went to the tasting to select the flavors I wanted, but they all tasted like ash to me when they hit my tongue. Knowing what the cake represented, my marriage to this man I barely know, it was impossible to enjoy the normally-delicious confection.
She pointedly gestures to the end of the corridor as she turns and continues her conversation.
The corridor leads to a stairwell, which takes me down to the holding area before they allow me into the main hall. I eye it from where I’m standing, stalling, trying to find a little more time. But the seconds are ticking down, and I know that I need to get this over with.
My new life starts here. Whether I like it or not.
I hitch the skirt up in one hand so I don’t trip over it—though falling down the stairs would certainly be an effective way to get out of what is ahead for me—and head to the top of the stairs. I can feel my heart slamming against my ribs, the palms of my hands sweating as I prepare to face my fate. I can almost hear my father’s voice in my head, reminding me how important it is that I go through with this—telling me, over and over again, that this is all he’s ever asked from me, and that the least I can do is see it through.
But, before I can start my descent, I hear a noise behind me. My head snaps around, searching for any excuse that will allow me to delay a little longer. I expect to see Taylor, or one of her dozens of minions, rushing over to me to fix my hair or change the arrangement of my flowers, but instead, I am faced with a man.
A man I have never seen before in my life. And what a man he is. He’s tall and muscular, lean and strong-looking. I find myself staring, the briefest whisper of a fantasy of him standing at the end of the aisle instead of Mario calming my nerves. I should be afraid of this strange man, but I’m not. I’m intrigued.
Behind him, one of the large windows has been forced open, making enough space for him to climb in. But we’re on the second floor...
"Are you... are you one of the guests?” I ask, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. He strides towards me, powerful and quick. My pulse jumps, heart racing. Silently, he pushes a hand through his hair. My eyes drop down his body—his clothes certainly don’t look formal, a black tee, black jeans, and leather gloves. His close-cropped brown hair is slightly wavy, and there is a smattering of stubble on his jaw.
As he closes the distance between us, a grin curls up his lips, as though my question is hilarious to him. I back towards the stairs. If I wanted, I could call out to Taylor or whoever else might be near, tell them that there is someone here, let them know that I am being... well, what, exactly, does he want with me?
But I don’t say a word. And, before I can try, he wraps his muscled arm around my waist, pulls me against him, and clamps his gloved hand over my mouth.
"No," he murmurs in my ear. "I’m not."
2
Max
I can feel the terror in her body before I see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her back arches away from me, her lips attempting to move against the confines of my hand.
She’s not going anywhere.
If she thinks I’ll let her walk down those stairs and marry that psychopath, she’s delusional.
She twists her head this way and that, trying to tear her face free of my grip, but I hold her steady as I lift her off her feet and pull her back towards the open window.
I don’t have much time—minutes, maybe even down to seconds now—and I am not going to waste any of it.
This is the one place in the hotel without cameras, no way for them to watch what I am doing, but this won’t stay a secret for long. Someone will come here to figure out what’s taking her so long, and I need to have her in the car and out of this place by the time that happens.
As I pull her towards the window, it feels almost surreal to be this near to her. After so long watching her, watching her father, learning every detail of this sham of a wedding, sifting through the schedule until we could locate the exact moment that we could take her, I’m finally here. The princess of the Leone family is in my grip, the plan in action.
The vengeance that we have waited for for so long is finally ready to begin.
"Head down," I growl to her, as I kick the window frame open a little further. I had a hard enough time getting in as it was, and she’s going to struggle dragging herself out of there in this giant dress, but I know she’ll fit.
I know she’ll have to.
I push her head to duck it down through the opening, and, all at once, something in her seems to shift—as though she has suddenly worked out what is happening here, that she is in the process of being snatched away from her wedding day.
"Get your hands off of me!” she exclaims.
My hand flies to my side. I don’t want to use the weapon I brought with me, but if I have to, I will. Her eyes dart down to the bulge in the side of my pants, and whatever color is left in her face pales.
"Get through that window," I order her, my voice dropping. "Or I’ll make you."
"How am I supposed to get down?” she protests. "It’s a?—"
"The lattice attached to the wall," I reply, as I hook one leg out of the window. The thick sill will give her enough space to climb on to the lattice, but in that dress, she’s going to be limited.