Page 30 of Stolen Vows
With a curse, he shifts his grip to my face and pinches my cheeks, pursing my lips.
“You’ve always liked testing my control, haven’t you, baby?”
Tears trail down my temples and wet my hair.I shake my head as much as his painful grip allows.
He grimaces and tests his ribs.Crimson blooms on his white dress shirt.
“I’m sorry, too, Valentina.We don’t want to mark this pretty face up on your special day, do we?”
I shake my head harder.
His laugh encases my body in ice and shatters the last of my soul.
“You’ll be a good girl for the rest of the day?”
I nod.
“Good.All you have to do is look pretty and say, ‘I do’.Capisci?”
I nod again.
He pats my cheek, pushes my hair back, and rises.I lie broken and miserable as he looms over me.
When he turns and leaves without another word, I stare at the closed door in shock.
A sob wracks my chest.Another breaks free.
I cover my eyes with my hands and cry so hard I can’t breathe.
A small, desperate part of me wishes Mario would bust down the door, scoop me off the floor, and cradle me to his chest like he used to when I was a child, but as the minutes pass and the door remains closed, my hope fades.
Cold, hard reality settles over me.My tears cease.
At least now I know exactly what my father wants.
Romeo doesn’t give a shit about me.
Escaping on my own was never an option.Maybe if I were stronger or smarter or wasn’t stripped of all my freedoms by my father, then I could find a way, but I have no skills.No way to make money.No chance of supporting myself while dodging my father’s power.
Mario is my only hope.
I take a deep breath, pull myself off the floor, and drag myself into the kitchen by sheer force of will.
If I show up to the venue with a splotchy face and swollen eyes, my father will kill me before I have the chance to escape him, so I grab two water bottles from the minifridge and press them to my eyes.When my eyelids start to sting, I roll the plastic over the rest of my face until my skin goes blessedly numb.
After placing them on the counter, I walk to the bathroom on wooden legs.
The woman in the mirror is beautiful.Her delicate features, vibrant blue eyes, and the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks and nose belong on a porcelain doll.Even with my hair dyed brunette instead of blonde, I superimpose my mother’s face over mine with ease.
My father was right.I look like my mom.All my attempts to change the way he looked at me were bound to fail.The only characteristics his genes gave me were my slightly thicker eyebrows and more pronounced cupid’s bow.
I wash my face, pull my hair back into a loose ponytail, and apply lip gloss but leave the rest of my face bare.
Nothing matters anyway if Mario doesn’t enact his revenge today.I refuse to let my father touch me again.One of us will die.
I desperately want to live.
With my conviction wrapped tight around me, I unplug my phone, toss my charger in my purse, and check my notifications.
