15. Bella

15

BELLA

" H e what? "

Clara's exclamation is so loud that I turn the volume down on my phone in a hurry, looking nervously toward my bedroom door. It's after midnight, and I'm not sure if anyone is still up. After the day we've had, I wouldn't be surprised if Gabriel is still prowling the house. I haven't left my room since I left him outside on the deck, afraid I'll run into him again. Even if he said he plans to wait until our wedding night to touch me again—the two of us alone in a dark and quiet house is a recipe for disaster. One that I know all too well how it will end.

"He asked me to marry him. Well— asked is a strong word." I explain all of it to Clara as quickly and clearly as I can—the burned house, the letter, the continued threats. Igor's confident declaration that I'm his fiancee, even though I was forced into agreeing to that, and I certainly don't consider myself his. "He thinks it's the best way to protect me."

Clara frowns. "Is it?"

"I—" I hesitate. "I don't know. I don't think Igor gives a shit about whether or not Gabriel and I are married. He'll just cut through Gabriel to get to me, and make sure we're not married by the time he gets his hands on me again. He already knew I wasn't…innocent."

"Ew." Clara wrinkles her nose. "So what's the point of this, then?"

"Things with mafia are—old-fashioned." I sigh, leaning back against the stack of pillows on my bed. "Any allies Gabriel has, they'll be more likely to help him if we're married. If I'm not his wife, they'll question why it's so important for him to protect me. They'll suggest he just hand me over and save everyone the trouble and bloodshed."

Clara's eyes nearly bug out of her face at that. "Wow," she says derisively. "That's a real bunch of winners. They think it's fine to just hand you over to some guy so he can force you to have his kid, because someone else hasn't managed to corner you into marriage first? What happened to chivalry?"

"I don't think that's a part of this. At least not when it comes to most men in my world."

"But not Gabriel." Clara flops back onto her sofa, a contemplative look on her face. "Let me see the ring."

I hold up my hand so that she can see the emerald on my hand, and she whistles. "Holy shit, Bella, that's gorgeous."

"I know. I don't really get why he bought it for me, though." I look down at it, trying not to be overly touched by how beautiful it is. How absolutely perfect, as if he knew exactly what I'd like.

As if he's been paying attention to me, careful attention, this whole time.

Clara snorts. "I do. He doesn't want this to feel like just another one of those garbage arranged marriages. He wants you to feel like this is real."

"But it's not." My hand drops into my lap, and I feel my chest tighten. "None of it is real."

"Are you sure about that?"

I look at Clara on the small screen, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Honestly, Bel?" She shakes her head. "Honestly, I think this always would have happened. I think Gabriel is in love with you—that he has been for a while, and he's using the danger you're in as an excuse to marry you. And honestly—I don't know if that's reprehensible or really romantic. Maybe a little of both."

I stare at her for a long moment. "He's not in love with me."

"Are you sure about that?"

I bite my lip, my heart jolting in my chest as I think back over my interactions with Gabriel. How careful he's always been with me. Gentle, slow, until recently. Ever since we've been here, every physical interaction we've had has felt tinged with desperation. As if he's terrified that we might not get another moment together, as if he's afraid that he's going to lose me.

But that doesn't mean he loves me.

"I'm going to look for a wedding dress tomorrow." I change the subject, hoping that Clara will catch on and not go back to the topic of whether or not Gabriel loves me. "I'll send you pictures of what I find."

"You better." She grins at me. "I'll be at work, but I'll have my phone on me." Her face falls a little then, sadness briefly washing over her face. "I wish I could be there with you."

"Me, too," I say quietly. "But it's probably safer that you're not. Just—be careful at home, too. Keep an eye out. I don't think Igor knows anything about you, but you should probably be careful. Just in case."

"I will," Clara promises. "Try to have fun tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay." I force a smile, but inwardly, I don't know if that's going to be a promise I can keep.

—

In the morning, it becomes clear that Gabriel has broken the news to Cecelia and Danny. Their faces light up when I walk into the dining room, Cecelia glowing as if it's Christmas morning. It just makes me feel that much worse, knowing that this is all for reasons they don't know. That Gabriel is lying to them about why all of this is happening.

I understand it. I get that he doesn't want them to be terrified the entire time we're here, that he wants them to feel that we've escaped Igor's threat by coming here. They're children—it's the right thing to do.

But it also feels bad to lie about something so important.

"Dad said you're getting married," Cecelia breathes. "Are you going to have a wedding dress?" Her eyes practically sparkle as she says it, her gaze immediately landing on my ring finger. " Oh ."

I remember being that age. I was never as interested in rings and dresses as Cecelia is, considering the fact that by then, I'd grasped that marriage was going to be something chosen for me, not by me. But I can relate to her excitement. "Your father did a good job, picking it out." I smile as I sink down at the table, not looking at Agnes or Aldo. I know Agnes will be able to read my face in an instant, and if I look at hers, I know I'm going to have a hard time keeping up pretenses.

"I'm going to go find a wedding dress today," I tell Cecelia, and her eyes go round.

"Can I go too?" she exclaims, looking at Gabriel. "Dad, can I go?"

He shrugs, looking at me. "That's up to Bella."

"Bella?" Cecelia's voice has taken on a pleading tone. Next to her, I see Danny roll his eyes, stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork.

"Of course," I tell her. I feel guilty perpetuating this story of a fairytale marriage between Gabriel and me, but I also can't bear to see her disappointment if I tell her no. "Agnes, do you want to come, too?"

I look over at her then, and there's a knowing look on her face, as if she's aware of something that neither Gabriel nor I are. "I'd like that," she says finally, setting down her fork. Across from her, Aldo chuckles under his breath.

I let out a sharp breath. When I look at Gabriel, he shrugs. His expression is faraway, like it was before he told me his plan for all of this. As if he's mulling something over.

After breakfast, I go upstairs and change into the same yellow maxi dress that I wore the last time we went into town. Too late, I remember what else happened that same day, and I grip the skirt in my hand, wondering if I'll ever be able to look at it again without remembering Gabriel pressed against me, pinning me to the bookshelves, sending waves of pleasure washing over me as he made me come by doing nothing other than moving against me.

Heat floods me, and I bite my lip, turning my attention to doing my hair and putting on a small amount of makeup, adding the dangling earrings that were in the bag Gabriel packed.

When I come downstairs, I'm startled to see him waiting in the foyer. "You're not coming, too, are you?" I bite my lip, realizing that what I'm about to say sounds foolish. "I don't want you to see my dress before the wedding."

Gabriel smiles, but it looks terse, like he's forcing it. "No, I'm not. I wanted to talk to you before you left. And give you this." He slips his credit card into my hand, and I close my fingers reflexively around the cool, heavy metal card.

"About what?" I swallow hard as he takes my arm, steering me into the nearby office. He closes the door behind me, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch as I look at him. "Gabriel?—"

"I'm not going to pounce on you," he says, the smallest hint of amusement in his voice. "Even though I remember very clearly what we did the last time you wore that dress."

Heat floods my cheeks instantly.

"I wanted to tell you something. I've been thinking, since last night. Since I gave you the ring." He lets out a slow breath, glancing down at the emerald on my finger before looking back up at me. "I know that you were trying to escape an arranged marriage when we met. I know you only barely escaped one with your life before that. I can only imagine how it must feel to end up in one now, even if it's with someone you trust."

I swallow hard, feeling the bright sting of tears behind my eyelids. Even that small admission means something to me—the fact that he's at least trying to understand how this must feel to me. No one else has ever tried to do that before. To try to empathize with how the things that this world has required of me make me feel.

"If you're miserable—" He pauses, and I can see how difficult saying this is for him. It looks like he's forcing the words out. "After Igor is dealt with, when it's safe again, you can go. I'll give you a divorce, and you can be free of this. It has never been my intent to trap you in a marriage you don't want, Bella."

He holds my gaze as he says it, but I can feel that he doesn't want to say any of it. That he doesn't like the idea of this marriage ending. And knowing what I know of Gabriel—of his hesitance to love again, his feelings about marriage…and that he cares for me and would never intentionally hurt me—none of that makes sense.

"What would you tell Cecelia and Danny?" I ask, and Gabriel's jaw tightens. He looks away briefly, and then back at me, as if that wasn't the response he wanted.

"I'd tell them the truth. That it didn't work out. That's how it works in the real world, right?" He shrugs, as if it doesn't mean much, but I can tell that to him, it does. "There's nothing wrong with them understanding that."

"You can't get me pregnant then." It's a bad joke, but it slips out, the memory of how he growled that he'd do exactly that if need be still fresh in my mind. It shouldn't send a hot shiver down my spine, remembering it, but it does.

Gabriel winces. "I'm sorry, Bella. I was—passionate, during that conversation. Too passionate. I would never do anything to you that you don't want. Including— especially a baby."

I know what comes to my lips is wrong. That it's not what I really want. It's a test, to see if he really is doing this only to protect me, that there's no ulterior motive in him. That he's not marrying me just so he has an excuse to have me in his bed, regardless of either of our feelings about it being more.

It's not the right way to handle this. But my feelings and thoughts are so convoluted that it's hard for me to know what's right and wrong any longer.

"Then, after our wedding night, we shouldn't sleep together," I say calmly. "Just to be sure that doesn't happen. Accidents are possible, after all. It's better to be safe."

Gabriel flinches. He tries to hide it, but I see the way he reacts, just for a second. I see the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. And it's impossible for me to judge him for it, because I can feel every part of me rejecting the idea that I'll only ever be in his bed once more. That the kind of pleasure I felt the morning after he said we should get married, when he fucked me in the library, is only going to be mine once more.

I expect him to reject the idea. To have reasons for why it's not possible. Why we need to keep having sex after the wedding night.

But he nods, his jaw tight. "Alright," Gabriel says quietly. "If that's what you think is best."

His acquiescence startles me. I don't know why—I know he's a good man. I know he would never force me. But it still shocks me, for some reason, I can't entirely explain. Maybe it's just that I'm so used to the idea that marriage means ownership, and I can't imagine that a man who owns me would ever relinquish to have what he wants from me.

But Gabriel isn't like all the other men. I realized that a long time ago.

"I need to go," I say quietly. He nods, and as I move towards the door, I see a look of longing flash across his face, as his gaze drops to my mouth. I can see how much he wants me, in that one look. I can feel my own answering reaction to it, the need that pulses through me.

It feels like a magnet. And it feels so fucking impossible to walk away.

—

I'm mostly quiet on the drive to town. Agnes, Cecelia, and I get into the back of one car, driven by one of the security that Gabriel sends with us. Five other men are in a car following us. Once upon a time, I would have thought that was incredibly excessive. Now, I'm not sure if that will be enough to keep us safe.

Cecelia chatters the entire way there, asking me questions about what kind of dress I want, about the wedding, about flowers and colors and everything else. I answer her as best as I can, always falling back on the idea that this came on Gabriel and me very suddenly, without giving away the truth of what all of this is for. Agnes is quiet, and I want to know what she's thinking, but I can't ask her with Cecelia here. I have a feeling that whatever it is, it's not appropriate to say in front of a child.

The idea that Agnes disapproves of all of this hurts. The idea that she might think I've trapped Gabriel in some way, seduced him into this, hurts too. But I know he would quickly disabuse her of that notion, if he knew she thought that. And they must have talked about it. I know the two of them are close.

I like Agnes. I feel close to her, after a relatively short amount of time, and I thought that she liked me, too. That she approved of me being a part of this family—even liked the idea of Gabriel and I together. I feel sad to think that might have changed for some reason.

But there's no way to talk about it right now.

There's one dress shop in town. We get coffee at the nearby café first—decaf for Cecelia—and then walk over to the small shop. There are a few dresses in the window, all gorgeous lace confections, and I stop and look at them for a moment before we walk inside.

There's a middle-aged blonde woman pinning a dress on a mannequin. She pulls a handful of pins out of her mouth, dropping them on a small table, and smiles brightly at us. "Can I help you?"

"I need to find a wedding dress." My heart thumps oddly in my chest, saying it out loud. "And I need to find one that fits me now. I don't have a lot of time for alterations. We're getting married in a week." Maybe less, I think, but I don't say it aloud. I'm already not surprised when the woman's assessing gaze immediately drops to my midsection.

"Well—" She gives me an appraising look. "You're the right size to fit in a lot off the rack, I think. Maybe with just a few nips and tucks here and there. So." She raises an eyebrow, gesturing for us to walk over to where several blue velvet chairs and a matching loveseat are arranged in a half-circle, with dressing rooms on one side and a three-way mirror on the other. "You ladies sit here. What are you thinking?" she asks me. "Lace? Silk? Simple or fancy?"

"Simple," I say, at the same moment that Cecelia chimes in.

"Fancy!"

The woman chuckles. "Alright. I'll pull a handful of gowns for you. I'm Anita."

"Bella. This is Agnes and Cecelia."

Agnes raises a hand, smiling, and Cecelia bounces in place, her eyes darting continuously around the shop in an effort to take it all in.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm stripped down to my underwear in one of the dressing rooms, the striped curtain pulled closed as Anita surrounds us both with a sea of lace, silk, satin, and tulle.

The first dress she puts me in is very much not my style. It's a tight, plain satin bodice with stiff sleeves and a full skirt—very Cinderella. I walk out in it anyway, because I don't want to disappoint Cecelia, who told me very firmly on the way over that she wants to see every dress.

This is as much for her as it is for me. I'm not sure that it matters what I walk down the aisle to Gabriel in, especially when this isn't a real marriage, but this might be Cecelia's only experience of seeing the woman her father is supposedly in love with trying on dresses. This wasn't anywhere in the plans before a couple of days ago, but Cecelia knows about all of this now, and I don't want this to be marred for her. Especially if, eventually, this ends with me walking away.

My chest contracts at that thought, and I have to plaster a smile on my face as I walk out of the dressing room.

"Definitely not that one," Agnes says with a chuckle as I walk out. "I can see from the look on your face."

"You look like a princess," Cecelia breathes, and I laugh a little at that.

"Not my kind of princess," I tell her. "But we'll see what the next one looks like."

We go through a series of dresses. Unsurprisingly, Cecelia likes the puffy princess gowns the most, but the ones I gravitate towards are more elegant. I snap pictures of those, sending them to Clara. A long sheath gown made entirely of fragile lace, with a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. A thin silk halter dress that drapes over me. A strapless column gown made of heavy satin.

Clara's pick is the lace one. And when I walk back out in it again, looking in the mirror, I hear Cecelia's wistful sigh and I know she's in agreement.

"You look beautiful," Agnes says. "Every bit a bride. It suits you."

It does suit me. It barely needs any alterations. It feels almost meant for me, and in some ways, that makes me want to choose one of the others. The dress feels too perfect for a wedding that's being arranged because my life, and the lives of the people I care about, are in danger. I feel too happy in it for a marriage to a man who I secretly love, who is only going to break my heart in the end.

Nothing about this wedding is a fairytale. But as I look in the mirror, I wish I could believe in it. That this could be real—Gabriel and I, together, happily ever after.

I know that's not true. But I look at Anita, smoothing my hands over the delicate lace skirt. "I'll take it."