Page 64 of Vengeful Vows

I’m glad it’s him and not me.

The amount she bills to me rocks me back on my heels.

Has she bought everything in the damn store?

Not that it matters. I will give her the world if she asks. The only thing off-limits is her freedom.

Later that night, I finally call her.

She doesn’t answer.

I try to find peace with the fact I know where she is and that she’s safe.

And then Alessandro lets me know she’ll do as I say.

The knowledge provides little solace.

When I phone Bella again the next morning, she sends me straight to voicemail.

This is a game you can’t win, little flower.

Still, she plays it well. She responds to text messages regarding details about the wedding, but nothing else.

I put up with her actions until Saturday night when I know she has left a fundraiser and is finally relaxing at the end of a long day, maybe enjoying a split of champagne from the fully stocked bar in the back of my limo.

Then I send her a message letting her know we will be dining with Don Raffaele and his family the following day at four o’clock.

When there’s no response, I inform her I’ll be at her hotel room at three.

Even though I know she’s read both texts, the frustrating woman does not respond.

No longer expecting a reply, I send a third, telling her to wear a respectful skirt or dress and conservative heels.

At one point, I wouldn’t have even considered suggesting such a thing because I implicitly trusted her sense of decorum.

But now?

I’m unsure how she’ll act, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try to embarrass me in front of my uncle.

If she defies me in this, I’ll forcibly rip the offending clothing from her body, change her into an outfit of my choosing, then carry her to my car—over my shoulder, kicking and screaming if necessary.

I arrive at the Sterling Uptown fifteen minutes early to find her in the lobby, instead of waiting for me in her suite as I instructed.

She’s sitting in a curved high-back chair that wraps around her. Apparently without a care in the world, she’s sipping a glass of champagne and looks more beautiful than I remember.

Bella,my Bella, steals my breath.

As I approach, she narrows her gaze, barely acknowledging me. How I wish for the days she’d see me and her eyes would light up as she ran straight for my arms and snuggled herself against me.

I lower myself into the chair next to her and angle it so that we’re facing one another.

A server joins us with a smile.

“Scotch. Bonds gold label.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“All of this will go on my bill.”