4. The Morning After

I can’t move. I can’t think. It’s safe to say that I can hardly breathe.

I don’t think I’ll ever truly recover from what happened in that office. I’ll always remember it as the worst thing that ever happened to me. Being held down by those two men while that bastard dragged a knife across my thumb will haunt me even when the cut heals and scars.

The helplessness I felt last night is something I’ll carry with me for the foreseeable future.

After marking the contract with my blood, I was dragged out of the room and shoved in this small but elegant bedroom. I couldn’t even make it up to the bed. I had no strength in my body then and I still have none. I’ve been sitting on the carpet with my back against the bed since last night, too afraid to feel tired or sleepy.

I was forced to sign a marital agreement with him, which means that at some point, I’m going to have to marry that creep. Nobody can save me from this fate, not unless they start a full-blown war. Even then, I might not be safe. An agreement is an agreement and there’s no turning back, especially when it’s signed in blood.

I haven’t even been able to contact my family. I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I’ll probably be kept here as a prisoner until the wedding and then afterward as well. From now on, I’m his property. He can do whatever he pleases with me and I’ll be perfectly incapable of stopping him.

I put my head in my hands as my heart sinks once again.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for or how much longer I’ll have to stay here, in this position. My hair is still up and I’m still in my auction dress. I have nothing here, not clothes or anything. I wonder how long this is going to go but there’s no way of predicting it.

I’m completely at their mercy now.

I lie on my side on the ground just as there’s a knock at the door. I sit up hurriedly and stare at the closed door intensely. The person on the other side knocks again.

“Miss Morelli, I am Hubert, the butler. I have your breakfast and a change of clothes ready for you.”

I breathe a lot easier. At least it isn’t him. I clear my throat and say, “Come in,” as coldly as I can.

The door is opened and a short man walks into the room. He appears to be in his early fifties and he’s carrying a silver tray which he sets down beside me. At the sight of him, I rise from the floor.

“Good morning,” he says, bowing formally. “As I said, I am Hubert and am here to serve you. I will bring your new clothes shortly. If you wish for anything else, please let me know.”

Without another word, he leaves the room and closes the door softly behind him. I stare at the breakfast tray. It doesn’t have an effect on my appetite. The scrambled eggs look soft and the tea is steaming and fragrant but I can’t eat. I don’t think anyone in my position would have an appetite.

Hubert returns followed by one of the men who held me down while my thumb was sliced. The sight of him gives me shivers but he doesn’t even look at me as he enters the room.

They’re carrying bags and bags of clothes. New clothes. Branded clothes.

“If there is anything that doesn’t fit you, don’t hesitate to tell me. It will all be returned and replaced.”

I nod, unable to say thank you. They file out of the room, leaving me to myself. I sit on the bed, right next to the tray and take a few deep breaths.

A bath will do me good.

I skip breakfast and go into the bathroom. I strip and get in the enormous shower with its gray tiles and glass doors. I regulate the temperature of the water before standing under the spray. I instantly feel better and relaxed. This is exactly what I needed to unwind, even if only a little bit.

My stomach drops whenever I think about how stuck I am, and my burning and throbbing thumb serves as a constant reminder of what my life has been reduced to.

I stand under the warm spray of water for about an hour. My heart doesn’t take any mercy on me. It sinks and skips several beats. My anxiety is bone-deep and there’s nothing I can do against it.

I wrap a clean towel around my body when I’m done. I should have looked for something to wear beforehand but I hadn’t thought about it. I usually didn’t do that back home so it was a force of habit.

I couldn’t have guessed that Igor Makárov would be in the bedroom when I got out of the shower, either.

The sight of him makes my heart practically catapult out of my chest. A cigarette is dangling from his lips when he looks over his shoulder at me. He then turns around to face me fully.

“You didn’t touch your breakfast,” he remarks.

I don’t answer him.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Loud and clear.”

This surprises him. I can tell by the subtle widening of his eyes. “Then why is it that you don’t answer my question?”

“I don’t have to inform you of my eating habits,” I say as I hold onto the towel tightly so it doesn’t fall, just to be on the safe side. “I usually don’t have breakfast.”

“Well then you’ll have breakfast here,” he says matter-of-factly. “We have breakfast at 8 a.m. sharp. Make sure you’re not late tomorrow morning. As for today, be ready by six. That’s when we have dinner.”

My anger spikes. I can’t control it. The words just slip out. “You can’t make me consort with you and your family. Unless you tie me to the chair, I won’t be there if I don’t want to and I assure you that I don’t!”

“That’ll be done, then,” he says, taking the cigarette from his mouth and puffing out rancid smoke. “You’ll be tied to the chair. Thank you for the suggestion.”

He starts to walk away and despair clutches at me. “What do you want from me?” I demand. “Why are you doing this?”

Igor gives me a dark look over his shoulder. He holds the cigarette between his index and middle fingers and says to me, “I don’t owe you any explanation about the decisions I make. The point is you’re here and you’ll be a part of my family. Therefore, you’ll act like it. End of discussion.”

He closes the door and my legs weaken. I drop to the bed as tears accumulate in my eyes. I wipe them away angrily when they fall, feeling like I’m letting myself down by allowing his taunts to get to me. God, I can’t believe this is happening to me. Why me? Out of all the girls in that auction, why did it have to be me?

Why did I have to end up with this asshole who isn’t even Italian?

I search for something to dress for fear that he’ll return and see me in a towel again. My anger hasn’t subsided and I could kill him. In fact, I’m fantasizing about doing just that.

If he dies, I’m free from this damned contract.

It’s just a thought but one with reason behind it. I’ve never had a thought like this before in my life but my eagerness to return to my old life is making me want to take the extreme route to get rid of him.

Right now, I feel like I’d be perfectly capable of grabbing a knife and stabbing him repeatedly until he died.

The clothes fit well, which angers me. He planned for this, the bastard. Isn’t that what he implied last night when he made me sign that thing? Someone was with him on this though I have no idea who. Who could have betrayed us this way?

I don’t think anyone would have wanted a war.

It’s still early so I don’t have to worry about dinner until much later. I grit my teeth just thinking about it. I decide that I won’t go willingly. Why should I facilitate his life and act like I’m hopeful to settle in amongst him and his kind? I’m a Morelli. I don’t give in. I don’t do things simply because I want to please people.

I’m not going anywhere. It’s set.

If he wants me to attend his stupid dinner, he can send his dogs to grab me and they’ll have to tie me down to the chair because I won’t sit still and have dinner with them like a good, obedient girl. Although I was taught to be that girl, I was also taught to be a fighter.

Because of that, I’ll fight with everything I have and I’ll use the weapons that are currently available to me.

And I won’t stop fighting him, not ever.