Page 20 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
I unhook the clasps on the teddy and shove it down myself, tearing the garter belt off, kicking off the heels, and chucking the items into a heap on the floor. “You’re being waxed after this,” Giulia tells me on her way out the door.
That gives me pause.
“Excuse the fuck out of me?” I ask, standing there naked and quivering. There’s so much heat and hate inside of me, I don’t know what to do with it all. What would Beast say? I think, imagining his quiet stoicism, the way I beat on his chest and he simply stood there and took it. He’d wait. He’d bottle it all up and unleash it at the most opportune moment.
“You look like a yeti,” Giulia says, giving my cunt a dirty look, as if it’s something distasteful to be tolerated. “My son deserves better. You’re getting waxed.” She continues out the door, letting it slam shut behind her.
I give the servant girls a dark look.
“If you touch me down there, I will kill you,” I warn them. I have limits, and they’re being tested. This is one place that I make a stand. My body, my choice. I snatch a silk robe off the back of a chair and storm into the bathroom, putting my back up against the door and closing my eyes.
What happens after the wedding, I’m not sure.
The only thing I know for certain is that things are going to change around here. Three months of living in this prison, and it’ll all end tomorrow. One way or another.
Grey and I lie close that night, taking turns pressing our mouths to one another’s ear so that we can talk without being overheard. If anyone were to watch, it might seem like we were fucking. The thing is, I clearly have some twisted sense of loyalty. Sleeping with Grey feels like … betraying the club? How ridiculous is that, to care what the club thinks when they’d kill me on sight?
Beast would kill me on sight. Crown would kill me on sight. Grainger would probably happily kill me on sight. Even Sin would …
I push the thoughts aside.
“We can have a good life, Gidge,” Grey tells me, putting his hand on the curve of my waist. My body likes the heat of it, and it’s been so long since I … well, I can’t even masturbate here. There’s no privacy, and I’m a red-blooded woman with needs. Maybe I should just do it, fuck Grey Wolfe? Why not? He’s going to be my husband tomorrow. And if we don’t fuck on our wedding night—and trust me, people will be watching—then I likely won’t live to see another sunrise.
I tell myself that I’m just going to do it. That tomorrow, after the wedding, I’ll sleep with him.
My heart lurches in my chest, but I put my hand over the top of his anyway. I made my decision when I screwed Sin and stole his keys, when I Tasered Crown, when I took off with his bike and crashed it.
It’s over.
I have to accept that.
“Okay, Grey,” I tell him, because it really is the best choice. Marry him. Take over his empire. I could have power here—eventually. That is, if Giulia doesn’t kill me first. “Let’s make a pact, okay? No matter what happens, you have my back, and I have yours.”
He smiles at me and leans in, pressing a light kiss to my lips, like a promise for tomorrow.
“Deal,” he says, and then, when I try to turn over, he moves his hand to my face and holds me there. Even though it’s pitch-black, I can see the reflection of the moon in his pale irises. “For all my faults, I never lie. I will have your back, Gidge, no matter what.”
I cover his hand with mine and close my eyes; that’s how we end up falling asleep.
Together.
I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness when I wake up that morning.
The sun slants through the stained-glass windows above our head, and I can hear the distant sound of birds chirping. Still, even with all that peacefulness, I feel uneasy, almost sick to my stomach.
Sharing an espresso and tangling our bare feet together under the table doesn’t help either.
When Grey gets up to leave, I follow him.
“Be careful today,” I tell him as he hesitates in the doorway and looks back at me. He smiles, reaching up to brush some hair behind my ear.
“It’s a wedding, not a war,” he says with a chuckle. “We’ve got this, Gidge.”
I watch him go, that sense of foreboding filling me as Giulia’s servants pour into the room and start their primping and plucking. My brows are tweezed, makeup expertly applied, hair coiffed. I dress myself in the lingerie that Giulia selected—which, if you think about it, is weird as fuck—and then allow the girls to put me into the jewel-encrusted poof that serves as a wedding dress.
