Page 37 of Gilded

MALIA

I hold the heavy skirt of my wedding dress up as I step on the platform, and the seamstress kneels to pin the hem in a few places for the final fitting, while her assistant and the wedding coordinator fuss over details I have no interest in.

Despite this ornate dress’s satin and lace, it feels like a straitjacket. My anxiety is through the roof and continues skyward as the wedding countdown begins. I can’t believe the wedding is tomorrow. I feel like all my nerves are floating on the surface of my skin, and my heart aches.

Luka’s absence during our last chance for time together feels like a rock in my chest. There’s no telling whether or not I’ll even see him again before the wedding. Or, hell, even after.

My energy is gone. Resignation is sliding in, and my interest in living has vanished. My soul bleeds black.

A helicopter cuts a path across the sky. I only catch a glimpse before it disappears behind the house, but the color tells me it’s Luka’s, and my heart skips. The place inside me that’s been dark since I parted ways with him at the airport now bursts with light. Happiness. Joy.

Joy. I so rarely feel happiness that it seems to sing that much louder inside me.

But I instantly recognize the dangers of that emotion. One that won’t last. Won’t grow. Won’t deepen. This dress reminds me that tomorrow, Luka will be banished from my life, and I’ll be neck-deep in sexual slavery to a man—or men—I loathe.

But I push that aside and focus on the feelings bubbling inside me. Ones I can only describe as giddiness. Or maybe hysteria. Those two emotions are a breath apart these days.

“Are we almost done?” I ask, suddenly breathless with excitement.

“Just a few more pins, ma’am. I’m hurrying.”

I glance over my shoulder toward the foyer even though I haven’t heard the door open yet, willing Luka to appear.

“Lift your arms out to your sides, please.”

The seamstress stands and pins the bodice in a few places. A sharp sting makes me gasp. A pin has pierced the skin over my ribs.

“Oh, dear,” the woman says, looking at me with authentic guilt. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

The seamstress pricks me several more times before she moves on to the sleeves, and I feel like an overinflated balloon about to burst.

I’m wondering what’s taking so long for Luka to come in. Then the front door opens, and I hear his voice. A voice that now makes everything inside me soften and float. I want to turn and set my eyes on him, but I can’t move without risking becoming a human pincushion.

The women twitter a bit just as Luka strolls around to face me. His suit is charcoal gray, his shirt white. The smile that lights me up from the inside out is impossible to stifle.

“That’s quite a dress.” He pushes his hands into his pants pockets, his suit jacket open, showing his tight abdomen. But what I notice is the stern look on his face and the way his jaw is pulsing. There’s no mistaking the sensation flowing from him: fury.

I’m about to ask what’s wrong, when someone else steps into view. A man I don’t know. My smile doesn’t just drop from my face, it vanishes from my entire body, and my mind spirals into darkness.

This man must work with Luka. He’s got to be here to add to my lessons. I will have to share Luka with this stranger. I will have to share my body with him too. And there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it.

The man is attractive. Brown hair, chocolate eyes, square jaw, fit, well dressed. His expression is warm, but the idea that Luka told this stranger everything about me makes me flush with shame.

“Love,” Luka says, drawing my gaze. “This is Jairo, a trusted member of my team. Jairo, this is Malia.”

I’m surprised Luka used an endearment in front of this man. And while Jairo extends his hand in polite introduction, I have to force myself to lift my own to take it, which is when I realize everyone else has left the room.

“Hello,” I say, stiff.

“You are…” He shakes his head with a smile. “Ravishing.”

Luka smirks at him. “I didn’t even know that word existed in your vocabulary.”

Jairo grins while he’s still looking at me. “Ignore him. He’s a jealous sonofabitch.”

I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t do this. I really can’t. My legs feel like they’re ready to buckle. My heart is hammering against my chest.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I lift the skirt and step off the platform. “I’m going to change.”

When I exit the formal living room, Soren takes the last stair to the main floor.

He approaches with his perpetually pissy expression.

I’m not surprised he doesn’t abide by the tradition of not seeing the bride before the wedding.

He doesn’t even seem to notice I’m wearing a fifty-thousand-dollar wedding dress.

“I’ll be attending the gala with you tonight,” he says.

No. No, no, no. I need that escape. I’m already having a hard time figuring out how I’ll face the donors knowing where the money goes, but Soren’s presence would aggravate an already tense situation.

As if I’m not anxious enough, discussing this in front of the other man winds my nerves to the breaking point.

“Not necessary,” I tell him, searching for a placating tone. “I know how busy you are and how important your work is. And it’s just a bunch of small talk, which you hate. There’s no need for you to waste your valuable time.”

“You mistook that as a suggestion. People need to start realizing I’m going to be your husband.”

Right now, I’m wishing my father had killed me at the dock.

“I guess I don’t have a choice, just like with everything else in my life.”

I turn toward the hall as Soren greets Luka. I disappear into my room but leave the door slightly ajar to listen to the conversation.

Luka introduces Jairo.

“So, you’ll be training Malia with Luka,” Soren says.

“He’s here to work on the security plans,” Luka answers for Jairo.

“In your free time, make sure Malia is up to speed.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Luka says, voice aggressive. “If you force everything on her at once, she won’t have a chance to adjust psychologically.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her mental state.”

“You should.” Jairo speaks for the first time, deceptively congenial. “If the demands are too severe too fast, she’ll shut down. Do you want a woman who enjoys pleasing you or do you want a zombie who needs drugs to submit?”

“You sound just like him,” Soren spits out.

“Maybe that’s because we’ve done this a time or ten,” Luka says. “I won’t tell you again—stop micromanaging me.”

I close the door and lean back against it, eyes closed while my soul splinters.

We’ve done this a time or ten.

A reminder that I’m in no way special to Luka. Confirmation that I will endure some bizarre form of sex I can’t fathom with two men today. One a complete stranger. But this is my life now. This will be my life until I escape, one way or another.

Find a way to deal with it until you can get out. This is reality.

But my heart is far stronger than my mind. And it wants relief. Now. It wants love. Now. It wants all the things I can’t have. Right fucking now.

I wiggle out of the dress and throw it on the sofa, then pull the drugs from where I hid them in my closet and dump them on the kitchen counter.

I count the number of pills for the umpteenth time since I got them and add up the strength in milligrams. According to the internet, this is more than enough to end my torment.

I pull a bottle of Burgundy from the shelf, pour a glass, and take it to the bathroom, where I drink most of it in one long swallow and turn the shower as hot as I can stand it.

There, I slide to the floor, prop myself against the tile wall, and draw my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. Then I hide my face so I can let go without being heard. The sobs tear at my chest and ravage my throat.

I’m lost in pure, raw misery when my name booms off the room’s hard surfaces with such intensity, it steals my breath.

Luka hauls the shower door open. I can’t clearly see him through the tears, water, and steam. Then he steps in, fully clothed, and drops to his knees. He grips my face and forces me to look at him, while water soaks his hair and clothes.

“Look at me.” He uses his other hand to push my hair out of the way. “ Malia, look at me .”

He’s scanning my face with a vehemence that scares me. “What did you take? And how many?”

“What are you talking?—”

“ The pills, Malia. What did you take? ”

Emotion swamps me, and I can’t speak.

Luka reaches up and hits the controls. The water shuts off, but his voice is still frantic, and now I can see the terror on his face. “ Malia, please .”

“No-nothing,” I stutter through sobs. “I didn’t t-take anything.”

“Then why are there pills all over the kitchen counter?”

“Because I thought about t-taking them.”

“Are you sure?” He squeezes my face harder. “Tell me the truth, love. Be honest with me.”

“I am. I didn’t take a-anything.”

He exhales hard, drops his head, and closes his eyes. Then he hauls me into his lap and wraps his big body around mine.

The feeling of him caring for me makes me start crying again. I grip handfuls of his wet shirt, press my face against his chest, and hold on as the sobs rack my body.

“It’s okay, love.” He holds me tight and kisses my head. “It’s going to be okay.”

But I can’t see how anything is going to be okay.

Luka goes quiet, giving me time to wind down. He tips his head and presses his mouth against my neck. Then my jaw. Then my mouth.

His kiss is passionate and filled with affection, making me hurt in ways I’ve never felt. Good hurt. Loving hurt. A full heart, knowing it will be empty soon.

But he breaks it off with a sharp intake of breath. “What happened? What started this?”

I’m too ashamed to tell him I’m afraid of the next step. “I think the stress is catching up with me.”

He’s clearly skeptical, his expression thoughtful. “Was it Jairo?”

My face crumples as I nod, trying to hold in the tears I can’t control.

“ Fuck .”

I tense at his sharp bite. “I-I-I…”

I want to tell him I’m sorry. That it’s okay. That I’ll figure it out. But it’s all a lie, and I can’t get the words out.

“I didn’t even think…” he starts. Then he takes my face in both hands and tips my head back to look into my eyes. “He’s not here for you. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I should have told you, he’s just here for the job.”

The vise on my heart loosens, and I can instantly breathe easier. Think clearer. “He…he is?”

“Yes. He’s working with me. We’re transitioning my men into the business to replace James and the others. I said those things to Soren to placate him.”

“I thought?—”

He presses his fingers to my lips, closes his eyes, and shakes his head. “I know. I should have expected your mind to go that direction. I’m so caught up in my own thoughts, I didn’t think about where yours would go. I’m sorry.”

He opens his eyes, their gray depths filled with complex emotions I can’t fully read. “Don’t give up, love. I’m working to get you out, but it will take time. Just don’t give up.”

Now my tears are from relief and gratitude. And love. Yes, I love this man. At least, I think I do. This feeling stems from his understanding, his compassion, his patience, his concern.

This love comes from the feeling of having a man see me as a priority for the first time in my life. Not a means to an end, not a possession.

He pulls me to my feet, grabs a towel, and wraps it around me, rubbing my hair and pulling me against him. “ Fuck .” He breathes the word, wrapping me in a bear hug. “Jesus fucking Christ, Malia. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

He pulls back, holds my head in both hands, and kisses me. Then he taps his watch and says, “Bring me a change of clothes from the cottage.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“I’m texting Jairo.”

“Texting?”

“It’s voice to text.”

I don’t understand, but I don’t care either.

In the bedroom, he opens drawers and drags out some sweatpants and a T-shirt, then helps me dress, kissing every part of my body before covering it. By the time I’m dressed, I want to be undressed again, lying in bed with him.

I push up on my toes and kiss him. “Maybe you don’t need those clothes right now.”

He grins, and the sight lightens my heart. I’m swamped by an instant and all-encompassing gratitude for having him in my life. Even though it was fleeting.

A knock on the suite’s door keeps him from responding. He opens the door to Jairo, carrying clothes and frowning at Luka. “You do realize normal people take their clothes off to shower, right?”

The sarcasm makes an unexpected laugh come out of me, and I press my fingers to my lips to stop what feels like a bubble of hysteria ready to take over.

Luka steps aside to admit Jairo, who takes a sweeping look at me as he wanders into the living room. “See? She knows how it works.” He meets my gaze with a smirk, making circles at his ear, and teasingly lowers his voice to say, “The man is loco.”

“I think I’m the crazy one,” I tell him.

“We’re all crazy here.” He pauses, then adds, “That’s a line from Alice in … Never mind.”

He turns toward Luka. “I told Zeiger we’d be busy the rest of the afternoon. He was pleased. Go dry off, psycho.” He looks at me. “Let’s see this snake I’ve heard so much about.”