a sip of my tea, wishing it didn’t taste so bitter on my tongue.
Luca stalked toward me and in spite of my temper, I had to stop the tremble of fear that washed through me. My anxiety was for naught though, because all he did was reach out to gently cup my chin and force my face up to his for examination.
“You didn’t sleep,” he stated. “And your eyes are bloodshot.”
I batted his hand away. “It’s hard to let my guard down in a prison. Doesn’t matter how nice the mattress is.”
“One hour,” he reminded me, taking a step toward the door. “Don’t keep him waiting. He won’t like it.”
Luca left, leaving me alone.
I gently set the teacup down and ran to the bathroom, throwing up the contents of my stomach, hating that nerves were getting the better of me.
Where are you, Hadrian?
In the armoire were dozens of dresses in my size. I was surprised Luca hadn’t picked out a garment for me. What should I wear to meet the man my family was going to marry me off to?
I thought about Gisella’s warning. It wouldn’t do well to flaunt the fact that I wasn’t a virgin.
Something demure then, but definitely not white.
I choose a champagne colored dress that neither completely concealed nor hid my attributes. It was form-fitting at the bust but flared at the waist. I hung it up on the back of the armoire door and then went to shower. I didn’t bother blow drying my hair, choosing instead to pull it away from my face and pin it into a bun.
Shadows under my eyes were stark in contrast to my pale cheeks. I used the makeup products to conceal my sleepless night and blush to bring life back into my face. I coated my lips in a rosy gloss and then slid into the dress. A pair of matching heels completed my outfit.
There was a knock on the door, followed by a female servant entering. “Sorry to intrude, Miss. Your uncle bade me to come get you. Mr. Foscari is waiting for you in the salon.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Nodding, she retreated, but left the bedroom door open.
With one final look in the armoire mirror, I steeled my nerves and went downstairs.
Raphael Foscari stood at the mantle, speaking in low tones to Angelo. Both men’s gazes turned toward me when I arrived in the doorway of the salon.
Luca and Tor were seated on an antique white settee, but they both rose like gentlemen when I entered the room.
It was clear I was there to be presented.
A Moretti woman on the altar of sacrifice.
A gift for a man and no more.
Raphael was a handsome man in his mid-forties. Golden skin, tall, blond. But there was a calculating gleam in his blue eyes, and I would never forget the words in my mother’s letter. She’d warned me about the Foscari. I would not be deceived by physical beauty.
He was everything Hadrian was not.
Raphael pushed away from the mantle and strode toward me. My gaze tracked him, and I met his eyes when he stopped in front of me.
“She has the Moretti trait,” he said, addressing Angelo, but his attention remained on me. “It’s unique, and I approve of it.”
“She will be a credit to you,” Angelo stated.
A serpent of rage coiled around my heart, but I kept my expression serene.
“I’d like to walk with her in the gardens,” Raphael said, still addressing Angelo.
“Absolutely,” Angelo said. “It’s best if you get to know one another.”
Get to know one another?
“Shall we?” Raphael asked, offering me his arm. His voice was velvet richness, so very unlike Hadrian’s bold brogue.
I remembered Gisella’s warning again and took his arm reluctantly. He led me from the salon, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luca watching me intently. I couldn’t discern his look, but I realized it didn’t matter.
I was on my own.
As I held his arm, Raphael rested his hand on mine, and we turned down a long hallway. Only when we were out of sight did his hand tighten on mine in a clear show of force. Instead of taking me toward the double doors that led out into the gardens, he changed course and shoved me into a bathroom.
My heart tripped in terror.
Raphael shut the door and then with a sinister twist of the lock, blocked the exit. I barely registered the black and white marble tile floor of the guest bathroom or the gleaming wood of the walls.