Page 46 of Stolen Temptation (Irish Kings #3)

Kiara

It’s been eleven days since Leo shot the only man I’ve ever loved and dragged me back to the De Luca estate. And I’ve never felt sicker.

Depression is an understatement.

I’ve barely risen from bed. If Theresa weren’t taking such meticulous care of me, I’m sure I would have already died from this despondency.

That horrible moment when Leo shot Rory plays in a continuous loop in my mind.

I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, but I do know I’m never going to see him again.

I need to find a way out of this situation.

Otherwise, I’ll be trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who makes my skin crawl.

Even living with Leo seems like a vacation by comparison.

My groom’s face appears in my mind like a specter in the dark. I cringe, trying to banish the image by rolling over under the covers.

After tossing and turning for several more minutes, I lift my heavy eyelids a crack and peer at the clock on my bedside table. It’s four in the morning.

Dread bulldozes me.

In a short time, my impending nuptials to Maksim Petrov will be upon me. By the end of the day…I’ll be his wife.

The horror fantasy reel is the gift that keeps on giving.

By this time tomorrow, I’ll have either figured a way out of this mess or I’ll be married to Maksim.

As much as I don’t want to give up, the events from eleven days ago took a toll on me.

I don’t know if I’ll survive a wedding night with my groom.

He’s not the sort of man to take no for an answer…

especially with someone he believes he owns.

He won’t give me a choice. Not like Rory did.

Pointless tears well in my eyes.

Nothing and no one can stop today from coming.

My fate is sealed. The finality of that crushes me. It’s an endless, pulverizing thing that doesn’t let up, even when I’m asleep.

After that horrid introductory meeting with Maksim and his family, Leo decided to keep me locked away in my room.

Probably to minimize the risk of me saying or doing anything that might jeopardize the business deal he’s cooked up with the Petrovs.

And he definitely didn’t want to give me another opportunity to escape.

The only upside about this captivity is that it’s kept me away from my husband-to-be.

I suspect that may be the real reason Leo decided to lock me up.

To keep my intended from succumbing to the temptation of “tasting the fruit” of my “untouched” body before Leo secured his money, weapons, and whatever else the Petrovs have put up in exchange for this wedding.

I’m sure the last thing on Leo’s mind is protecting me from that brute.

And as awful as it is to be marrying that vile stranger under these laughably false pretenses, the marriage isn’t the reason my heart’s in pieces or why my body aches like the creaking wood of an old ship.

All I can think about is Rory.

Is he dead? Did he suffer?

Was the pain worse than what I’ve been stewing in since Leo brought me back to the De Luca estate?

The questions keep me up at night. I barely sleep or eat. I imagine seeing his smile again before remembering that will never happen, and I fall deeper into a hopeless sea of darkness.

For comfort, I have the old books in my room and enough things to paint with. But I’m listless. I have no interest in anything. No inspiration outside of the black despair that hangs over me like a cloud.

Every time I think I have it in me to create something, anything , I just sit frozen on my stool. In the end, I always set my brush down and walk away.

Nestling deeper under the covers, as though the blankets might shield me from my future, I wonder if I’ll ever want to do anything ever again.

Right now, I’m a shell.

After what feels like another hour of agony, I drift off into a peaceless slumber and don’t wake again until Theresa’s small, warm hands gently shake my arm.

Blinding shafts of sunlight slant into my bedroom. With a start, I realize that today may be the last day I ever see this place. From tonight onward, my room will be wherever Maksim Petrov lays his oversized head.

“Breakfast, piccolina .”

Theresa’s sweet. She reminds me of Mae, except she seems oblivious to the fact that I’m a prisoner here.

I manage to struggle through a few bites of breakfast before Leo throws open my door, sporting the smug grin of a man who just won the lottery.

I’m so lost in my own grief, my body doesn’t even flinch at the sudden intrusion.

Leo saunters in and leers. “Excited for your big day?”

“Excited to get rid of me?” My reply is a mumble, but Leo catches every word.

“You have no idea.” His wicked smile breaks into a chuckle.

Then, all the levity on his face melts off, and he stalks over to me and grabs a fistful of my knotted hair.

“If you do anything to fuck this up, bug, I’m going to destroy that pretty face of yours.

I’ll cut you up so badly, your own dead mother wouldn’t even recognize you. ”

“Understood.” I spit the word at him. It must be too defiant for his taste because he yanks my hair hard before releasing me.

Leo turns to Theresa. “Have her ready to go within the hour. We’ve kept our in-laws waiting long enough.”

He slams my bedroom door shut behind him, and for a moment I can breathe.

But not for long.

The rest of the morning swirls by like water down a toilet bowl.

Soon, led by Theresa and flanked by Leo’s meanest minions, I zombie-shuffle out of the house. They escort us into a limousine that drives us to an alley somewhere in Manhattan. I’m taken through a back door into the cavernous underbelly of an enormous venue unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Marble floors overrun with a blood red carpet.

Candelabras taller than I am lining both sides of a walkway, thickets of roses snuggled into the center of their many arms. Candle wax and fresh rain scent the air.

The crystal chandeliers that hang above us make the one in the De Lucas’ dining room look like a kid’s night-light.

The building is so beautiful, the wedding could happen anywhere. In a hallway. In one of the bathrooms. On the double- wide staircase up ahead. It’s truly the most stunning place I’ve ever been in.

But the opulence is lost on me. I’m too dead inside to appreciate a single thing.

A venue worker with long blond hair piled into a pineapple bun on top of her head leads us down the red carpet. Before we reach the stairs, we turn into a private dressing chamber. A woman I assume is the wedding planner explains the timeline for the day to Theresa.

I nearly collapse onto the stool in front of the vanity. My stomach drops. I don’t even recognize myself. Never realized there used to be a light in my eyes until it was…

Gone.

Just like Rory.

I don’t have enough tears left to muster a cry. Not before Theresa and a gaggle of wedding assistants swarm me to begin the beautification process.

Somehow, time crawls by and moves too quickly. The hair sculpting and makeup take forever. Eventually, noises creep in from under the door.

High-heeled shoes clacking on marble. The tinkling of glasses. Laughter and chatter from guests as they file in to watch my metaphorical death in person.

The roar gets louder and louder, a symphony reaching its crescendo.

How many people did Leo and the Petrovs invite to this thing?

After the hair and makeup artists finish brightening up my corpse of a face, it’s time to put on the dress. Leo selected a princess ballgown. The lace bustier on top restricts my lung capacity by at least seventy-five percent and devolves into an explosion of tulle.

It’s the kind of wedding dress that kills any possibility of running.

I’m sure that’s exactly what Leo was aiming for.

The next time I catch my reflection in the mirror, I really don’t recognize myself. I look like Ballerina Barbie, only with dark brown hair.

So much makeup has been applied to my forlorn face that it feels like a mask. I don’t know what to say about my hair except that it’s full of feathers and pearls and who knows what else.

Theresa fawns over me for a few seconds before the wedding planner reappears. She begins to usher our whole party toward a door on the far side of this dressing room.

The wedding assistants carry my train, and Theresa folds my arm through hers as we shuffle forward. We duck through the door, and almost immediately, I find myself drowning in raucous applause.

My head snaps up to find an open hall full of guests exuberantly cheering my entrance. I’m standing on a small platform that reminds me of a display window in a mall. There’s a bench with a big satin cushion in front of a wall of silk curtains. It’s like a ‘take-a-picture-with-the-bride’ booth.

The next thing I know, I’m sitting on the satin bench and a parade of people I’ve never met before are lining up to greet me and bestow their fondest wishes for my upcoming nuptials to Maksim Petrov.

None of them really care whether I have good luck with my husband. Not one of them waits for me to say thank you or comments on my lack of excitement. Instead, I sit frozen, a doll for them to coo over before they move on to congratulate Leo.

This is for his benefit, not mine.

More than once, I swallow bile as my stomach clenches from fear and disgust. In just a few hours, I’ll be the wife of a creepy, abusive tyrant.

That’s the mafia way, right?

Except, that’s not true. I remember when I believed all mafia men were the same, but I was wrong.

Rory was different. And, as frightening as I found Finn Gallagher, he and his friend must be different too.

Otherwise, his wife would never say his name with that dreamy look in her eye, and the twins’ laughter wouldn’t flow freely inside the Gallagher estate.

I miss Rory so much.

My brain pours over memories of the short time I spent with him.