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I gave my head another shake. “Papà—”

“Enough, Elena! It is done. Now, go pack a bag. You’re staying with him until the wedding.”

My eyes widened.

?

??What?” I breathed.

He directed a sarcastic gaze at me. “It’s not like you’re a virgin, Elena.”

“Papà,” Tony snapped.

His words pierced my chest. I knew he was pissed and was directing it at me, but it hurt all the same. “How could you allow this? Do you think that because my reputation is already stained you can just rip it to shreds?”

“You can blame your poor reputation on yourself and your fiancé. After this issue with your sister and your . . . past, I agreed to his terms.”

What he meant was that Nicolas didn’t trust me not to fool around with other men behind his back before the wedding. Papà apparently didn’t have much say on the matter, considering the contract was broken on his end.

I didn’t know what to say, but I wasn’t ready to accept this.

“I don’t know how to cook,” I blurted, before looking at Nicolas, who still leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

“I have one,” was all he said in a deep, thoughtful voice. I had a feeling he didn’t entirely want this marriage either, so why had he agreed to it?

“I like to shop. I spend way too much money.” It was true, but I also donated to the local shelters just so I wouldn’t feel so bad about my spendthrift ways. So I guessed that meant I spent even more.

“I have it.”

Was he only going to speak to me in three words now that he owned me?

“Enough, Elena,” Papà cut in. “Go.”

A frustrated sound traveled up my throat, but I kept it locked in. “I don’t want this,” I told my papà, my voice quiet. I avoided Nicolas’s gaze, though it burned my cheek like a rash.

“It is done.” Papà copied my tone, but his words were final.

So I left his office, headed to my room, and, while packing a bag, I contemplated how I could ever survive Nicolas Russo.

“Lust will be the death of us.”

—Unknown

THERE WAS NOTHING BUT SILENCE. In fact, the quiet seemed to eat at me the entire drive. And the worst thing about it was his car smelled so damn good. The events of today hit me like whiplash, leaving a numbness behind that only his masculine scent seemed to penetrate. Instead of the prickling feeling of panic, his close proximity and the idea of his hands on me were driving me insane.

It was as though my body focused on the primal aspect I’d been craving so I wouldn’t be traumatized by the event. A protective mechanism.

I was equating marrying Nicolas to severe trauma.

Truly, it didn’t seem far apart.

There was a difference between lusting after a man and wanting him to be the father of your children. The idea pulled me in two resilient directions: thrill, and terror.

The feelings were so tenacious I remained only numb, leaving room for one thing. Warmth hummed between my legs, my skin a nesting ground for electricity and ice.

My mamma had watched me walk out the door with Nico carrying my bag, her eyes wide as if I were being sent to the slaughterhouse. Even my sister had rushed down the stairs, mouthing, “I’m sorry,” before the door shut behind me. Papà never came out of his office, and Tony and my cousins only watched Nico like he was stealing something.

I wanted to stay detached from this man, as indifferent as I possibly could, but as the city passed before my eyes in a blur of concrete and bright sun and we grew closer to his place, impassive was not a word I would even recognize.