Page 40 of Red Retaliation

Heat floods my face. What if she thinks Ihaveto marry Red, but not in the way I actuallydohave to marry him? What if she thinks I’m pregnant, and this is a shotgun wedding?Oh God, God, God!

Little does she know that if Iwaspregnant, it would be the Immaculate Conception!

My cheeks heat further with burning flames of resentment. That this woman - this personal shopper - knows my wedding date before me, speaks volumes of what my life will be like. It underlines that things will be as hard as they were with Roberto, with the exception of not putting up with unwanted demands in bed.

That’s if I believe Red’s words, which, surprisingly, I think I do.

“I’m certain we have a wedding dress in your size that will suit you perfectly.” Sylvia pauses, giving me another one of those looks. “This situationisunusual, though. Most of our brides have wedding dressescustom-made months and months in advance...”

I search for a suitable response, but Sylvia has already moved to the racks of clothes wheeled into the room by Red’s staff. “Now, these clothes,” she trills. “Aside from the obvious, are there any functions that are urgent?”

Sylvia’s eyes covertly run over my body, and I realize she’s calculating if any alterations are required. These clothes look to be my size, but how did she know without seeing me?

I self-consciously pull the silk robe around me, grateful I was handed it, rather than standing in my underwear because I feel exposed and vulnerable enough as it is.

I run my fingers along the material of the clothes on the wheeled racks - allfourof them...

They’reallbeautiful, designer and extortionately expensive clothes. Matching or evenovertakingthe quality collection I have at home.

I swallow dryly.It was once my home, but not any longer.

“Miss?” Sylvia clears her throat. “Is there nothing here that you like?”

I start at her voice, having almost forgotten her presence. “The clothes are lovely,” I smile weakly.And they are. “Can I ask how you chose what to bring?”

Sylvia’s eyes are inquisitive, holding a tinge of suspicion. “Mr Bateman was very specific as to his preference.”

Any smile on my face vanishes. Red ordered whathewants me to wear? The distraction from this mass of beautiful clothes and even the wedding disappears with the stark reminder that I’m a prisoner.

This sham marriage will be another lifetime of being controlled and trapped. Andthistime, after who I’m being forced to marry, I’ll lose my family’s respect, as well as contact with them. They won’t understand why I’ve done it, and Red will never allow me the chance to tell them either, so they’ll believe I’m a traitor.

“Mr Bateman also requested these...”

My swirling panic is momentarily interrupted as Sylvia unzips a large, wheeled holdall and lays the contents on the bed. My eyes widen as she expertly arranges a collection of lingerie: bras, matching panties, basques, stockings and negligees in every conceivable color.

My cheeks burn at the thought of Red selecting these. Were his blue-gray eyes heated, imagining what I’d look like in this exquisite satin and lace?

Why request such beautiful lingerie when there’s no intention oflaying a hand on me?

And why do I care?

“Mr Bateman has delectable taste,” Sylvia gushes. “Perfect for a new marriage.”

I pretend to admire the selection of underwear rather than revealing my escalating dread. I will not discuss any aspects of this sham wedding with Sylvia.

“Shall we make a start with trying on some things?” Sylvia glides over to a beautiful red satin cocktail dress and plucks it off the rail with expert hands.

“I don’t think my fiancée needs to try on the clothes. I know what size she is and what she likes.”

I swing around at Red’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

With horror, I realize my satin wrap has fallen open, revealing more flesh that I’d ever wish this man to lay eyes on, and my fumbling fingers scramble to pull it back around myself.

Crossing the room in three strides, Red pulls me against him. I almost pass out as he presses his lips against my cheek, his stubble scratchy against my face. “I thought I’d pop in to hurry you along.”

His hands rest just above my buttocks as he holds me against his hard body. Fire explodes in my center, my nipples hardening traitorously.

“Play along,” Red whispers, his lips still against my cheek. Pulling his mouth away, he keeps me held against him, his eyes boring deep into mine. “We’ll be late for our lunch date if you don’t hurry. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”