Page 35 of Revenge

I suspected it wasn’t a love match, but I thought she was still enamored with the idea of marrying into the powerful political family. That she was a willing participant in the transactional marriage.

Now, just like last night, I see that Dahlia’s just a beautiful girl caught in a web of expectations and conventions that she never cared for. That’s why she sought me out on the night of her debutante ball. Why she trembled last night when I told her she could sing.

“I’m sorry.”

She never stepped into my offered embrace, so I draw her to me now, pulling her head against my chest and kissing the top of it.

She pushes against my chest to lift her face. “What are you sorry for?” She still wears a mulish expression. She resents me like she resents everyone in her life who has told her what to do and expected her to bend to their wishes. I’m no better than her parents. I’ve given her no choice in her future.

Regret pierces my chest, but I push it away.

My plan has been executed. There’s no changing course now. Dahlia’s mine, and I won’t let her go.

“That your life hasn’t been your own.”

Her eyes fill with tears again as she searches my face. I cradle her cheek with my palm and stroke my thumb across her soft skin.

“You’re not sorry,” she tells me. “You just want to be the one who controls me now.” She pushes past me, out of the bathroom, and I let her go because she’s absolutely right.

“I don’t want to be the one who controls you,” I tell her back as she faces the dresser to change. “I am the one who controls you.”

Chapter Eight

Dahlia

I spend the day on the deck in a swimsuit reading my book. The air is warm and balmy. We definitely left New England waters. I’m too proud to ask where we are, since it doesn’t really matter. Antonio says he won’t let me off until we’ve consummated the marriage, so I plan to hold out. For years if I have to.

That would serve him right.

I eat lunch by myself on the deck. In the late afternoon, I spot land. To my surprise, we drop anchor. I have no idea where we are, but this could be an opportunity to get word to my father. Maybe Shawn, the captain, is already working that plan. I should try to see him again.

I put the bookmark in my novel and stand up from the chaise lounge, trying to come up with a plan.

Antonio strolls to my side. “Put a dress on, darling. I'll take you to dinner.”

My heart double pumps with the sudden rush of adrenaline that floods my system. Perfect. This could be my chance to get away.

Well, scratch that. I’m not going to make an escape attempt until I’ve spoken to my father. I would hate to sign my parents’ death warrant by angering Antonio. But if what Shawn told me is true, it sounds like my father is working on a plan to get us free. I need to get word to him about our location at the very least. Even better if I could actually speak to him.

“Fine,” I say, as if going to dinner with Antonio is a chore, not an opportunity. I breeze past him and go to the room to get dressed.

I put on a white minidress with a pair of heeled sandals. I might as well work every distraction I have available to me. My legs, tanned and long, look decadent, if I do say so myself.

Antonio's rumble of approval when I emerge shouldn't satisfy me so much, but it does. I drink in his heated gaze, giving my hips an extra swing as I walk. This man makes my body come alive. He thrills me like Jake never could. Like no other man has.

He takes my hand, and we climb down to the speed boat waiting below.

“Where are we?” I ask when we disembark.

“Miami.”

Still the U.S.. I can work with that.

“Oh good, I love Cuban food.” I pull my hand from his grasp and give my hair a toss as I stride forward.

Two of his men instantly flank me, and I jump, feeling threatened.

“Step back from my wife,” Antonio growls.