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“You call me Warren,” he orders before he is once again walking. I have no choice but to go with him.

My mind races with everything that just happened. Only when we enter the house and everyone greets us and introduces themselves to me does my mind return to the present moment. The whole time, Warren keeps his hand wrapped around my wrist, often stroking his fingers back and forth in a soft caress.

There are faces I recognize beyond the Marino family. A few I don’t recall ever seeing before. My mom keeps giving me reassuring smiles. I sip on the wine Warren handed to me.

“You know you’re supposed to hold the hand, not the wrist.” Z comes to stand next to us. A pretty blonde also joins us. I can tell she belongs to a rich family that is very much a part of this world.

"Don't tell me how to handle my fiancée."

"Handle?" I whisper.

"He's not great with words." Z shrugs. I peek over at Warren, who is glaring so hard at him I want to take a step back. Z shifts, but he doesn't back down from toying with his brother.

“I’m Cora.” The tall blonde introduces herself with a smile. I saw her earlier giving me more than a once-over. Cora's dress fits her like a glove. You can tell it’s expensive. I hate that it makes me feel out of place, but I am.

“Tova.” I formally introduce myself, returning the smile, but there is a coldness to her. She holds her hand out to me. “Sorry, he won't let go.” I have a wine glass in one hand, and Warren still has his hold on my wrist. Cora laughs, but it sounds forced.

“Dinner is ready,” Warren’s mom, Rochelle, announces. “Come.” She ushers us all along. “Sit at this end, Tova. We haven't had a chance to talk, and we have a ton of wedding planning to do.”

“Okay,” I agree. Warren pulls out a chair for me, having to let my hand go at this point. They have decorated the entire dining room. You’d think this was the wedding reception. There are breathtaking flowers that run down the center of the table. “These flowers are beautiful.”

“Do you like it?” Rochelle asks. My mom sits beside her. Dario, of course, sits to the side of his wife.

“I love them.”

“We can use this florist for the wedding. That takes care of one item.” Rochelle lets out a small laugh. “The florist got them to me quickly, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I planned to have some grabbed from the garden, but War, for some reason, told me to leave them be.”

I jerk my head toward Warren, wondering why he’d done that and if it’s also connected to him saying I have to stay out of the garden for a few days.

Rochelle and my mom fall into wedding talk. I occasionally contribute to the conversation. Warren doesn’t speak much at all. His father does, however, stand up and make a toast to the happy couple. Too bad we’re not happy at all. Warren doesn’t want to marry me, and as pissed as I am about everything, I’m more heartbroken than anything.

“Are you not hungry?” Warren asks.

"I'm okay." I shrug. I want to go back home. This is all too much.

"Not to be rude—" Warren stands.

"That would be a first," Z says loudly under his breath. Warren ignores him. I fight a laugh myself.

"I'm going to steal my fiancée away." He pulls my chair out for me.

"Right now?" my mom asks.

"Yes, Mom." I respond to her before anyone else can. I'm not sure what will happen if she tries to say that I can't go. I'm uncertain how well that would be received. Besides, I'm marrying Warren. Being alone with him will be my life in a few short weeks. We might as well spend some time together. I mean, I’m not sure how that’s going to go, but I’d pretty much do anything rather than continue to be at this dinner.

"All right, sweetheart."

I take Warren's hand and let him guide me from the dining room. The second we are free of everyone, I release a breath.

"Was it that bad?" Warren asks.

"It's a lot," I admit. "Do you go to things like that often?" I have seen him pictured in a few local headlines going to events.

"When I have to. It's part of the job."

Right, because all of this is a responsibility to him. Nothing more. That's why he'll marry me.

Chapter Eight