Broken Bride

He has stubble on his chin. It brushes against my cheek intermittently when he speaks. We are close enough to kiss, but he keeps me on the verge of that intimacy. He smells expensive, and he feels strong. Even in this limited embrace, I feel myself responding to him. I have been on carnal edge since he lashed me this morning, and now those sensations are threatening to overwhelm me.

“You sound like Mark.” I want to goad him into kissing me, into touching me the way a woman should be touched by her husband. It has only been two days, and I know he is probably trying to avoid a meltdown of regret, but I don’t regret anything. Ever.

“I doubt it. Even if the words are similar, the intention is very different.”

I feel small with Angelo. He is older than me, more experienced, and he has a knowledge of people and the world at large which he uses to manipulate events to his will.

“I know what you are. Who you are,” I tell him. “I want to be yours. I agreed to marry you for a reason.”

“Self-possessed little thing,” he murmurs, caressing my cheek lightly. “I don’t think I would have the nerve you do at your age. Young people grow up so much more quickly these days.”

“I want to be yours, Angelo. I want…” I bite my lower lip. “I want this to be a real marriage.”

“You want sex.”

“I want power.”

His brows rise and a smile rises to his lips. “Do you, little one? And what would you do with power if you had it?”

“I’d…”

“You don’t need to answer that. I know exactly what you’d do. I know exactly what you’ve already done. And that is why you will not warm my bed tonight.”

“You’ve done worse than I have. I know you have.”

“You don’t know anything, but you’re right. I have. You’re not ready to be mine.”

I’m so frustrated I could scream. But I don’t scream. I smile, politely, as I was taught to. My facade is my strongest weapon. I don’t let Angelo see how much his rejection humiliates me. I make very sure that he doesn’t see the glimmer of tears in my eyes.

“I’m tired,” I say. “I should get some sleep.”

“Sleep well, Tilly. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

Platitudes sound wrong coming out of his mouth.

I go to bed.

Angelo goes to bed too. With Bobby. Again.

Chapter 12

Tilly

It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t sleep. I have been lying awake for hours. Could be jet lag. Could be something else. Could be loneliness, and fear.

I get up and I go down the hall where the bedrooms are. I avoid Angelo’s room. I don’t need to see my husband with his arms wrapped around another man, ignoring me. Even if we’ve only been married for two days. Even if this marriage was basically forced. Even if…

“Mark?” I whisper his name as I push what I think is his door open.

“Yes, Tilly.”

He was asleep, I think, but he’s wide awake the second he realizes someone else is in the room with him.

“I’m ready for you to get me out of here.”

He sits up and flicks the bedside light on. He’s not wearing a shirt. His upper body is muscular and free of hair. He’s hot. Classically, American-ly, hot.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning me over. I go to him and perch nervously on the edge of the bed.

“What changed?”

“I don’t mind being married to Angelo. I want to be his wife. What I don’t want to be, is… whatever I am. Nothing. I’m just the girl with the money. He’s not getting it.”

“Okay, well, getting out of here isn’t as simple as just walking out the door, Tilly. We have to plan. I have to get some things in order.”

“How long?”

“At least a week. Probably longer.”

So I’m stuck here with a husband who won’t fuck me, a boy who wants to kill me, and a sympathetic soul who is just as much under Angelo’s thumb as I am.

It occurs to me that I could use Mark to make Angelo jealous. It wouldn’t even be using. I do like Mark. He’s sweet. And he’s very handsome. And he likes me. On paper, Mark is the man I should want.

“Can I…” I gesture toward his bed. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Mark lifts the coverlet, and I slip into the bed beside him. The bed is warm where he was lying. I can feel him near me, even though he’s not touching me.

“Blondes have to stick together,” I smile, turning toward him. Mark’s gaze is serious.

“Angelo won’t like it if we develop a relationship. He’ll use it against us. You’re new here, Tilly. You don't know where the danger is yet.”

I am tired of being told that I am new. I know I am new. And I know exactly where the danger is.