Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 86325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
"Good morning, Aurora," she greets me with a smile, throwing open the curtains. "Signore Giordani requested I get you ready for meeting him."
She escorts me into the bathroom and I glare at her as she expectantly snaps her fingers at me, trying to get me to strip in front of her. Wordlessly, I shake my head, but Sophia merely rolls her eyes.
"Don't be a baby, Aurora. Clothes off, now."
Reluctantly, I slip my dress off. Luckily, I'm not far enough to show, and Sophia doesn't look at my navel twice. Instead, she helps me get in the claw-footed porcelain tub and scrubs me down with a sugary paste before lathering my skin in rose-scented oil. The smell is oppressive to my nose and I hate it. It smells nothing like my perfume I always wear, the one that used to belong to my mother.
"I don't like this scent," I mutter as Sophia lathers my hair with a shampoo carrying the same awful smell.
"Tough luck, it's Signore Giordani's favorite," Sophia says. "Get up."
For the next hour, she dries and styles my hair and does my makeup. I look like a different version of myself by the time she's done – like a doll. My skin is flawless, powdered to perfection, with two bright spots of blush on the cheeks. My lips glisten with gloss and my lashes are long, voluminous and curled. I look... like a grown-up version of myself. I don't think Ryder would like it.
"What will Ang… err, Signore Giordani expect from me?" I ask Sophia, figuring it would be best to get on her good side if I want any chance of eventually getting the hell out of here.
"I'm glad you asked," Sophia purrs. "Just be obedient and well-behaved, and you'll be fine. You look beautiful, I'm sure he'll be impressed. And it doesn't really matter what kind of first impression you make. If you're a bad girl, it might be even better for you – Signore Giordani does love to train his brats."
"Excuse me?" My brows shoot up but she allows no room for questioning as she slips the silk robe off my shoulders.
"Here's your dress." She presents me with a silk, strappy, floor-length gown with an open back.
"What about a bra?"
"You don't need to worry about that."
I slip into the dress reluctantly. Normally I would resist more, but not today. I'm too afraid for my baby and what could happen if someone here found out I was expecting. Something tells me Signore Bernardi isn't just looking for a companion. He's looking for a new plaything... or even worse, a wife.
Sophia fusses over my appearance for a further ten minutes before a bell sounds off in my room. She instantly perks up, dusting off her skirt. "That means Signore Bernardi wants you to join him. If you ever hear that sound when you're alone, you'd better show up and fast. Signore hates tardiness."
She leads me out of my suite and down the hallway of identical doors, then up a stairway. Once we're on the second floor, I notice the main space is a huge office with two doors on either side of it. Sophia pushes me forward and I stumble, giving her a look of contempt.
"Kneel," she hisses before I can argue, seemingly nervous. I'm surprised when she drops to her knees right alongside me. Our foreheads touch the floor in a gesture of respect and my heart begins to pound as I hear the door opening on the left side of the room.
Heavy, slow footsteps walk across the hardwood floor and suddenly, there's a pair of black boots resting in front of my face.
Fearfully, I turn my head to the side to look at Sophia, and she mouths, "Kiss them."
The thought repulses me. Bile rises in my stomach, but when the man standing next to me clears his throat, I realize I must do as I'm told or risk getting myself – and my baby – punished.
I lift my head and gently press a kiss to the polished leather, leaving behind a trace of red gloss.
"Good girl."
His voice is deep and heavily accented. I hate him already.
A firm, strong hand wraps around my chin and slowly guides me up to my feet. I don't dare look at him – I don't want to know what a man who makes women greet him by kissing his boots looks like.
"Eyes up," he barks, as if he can read my mind.
I raise my eyes to him, narrowing them as he watches me closely. His eyes are dark brown, nearly black, with specks of hazel peppered through the iris. He's chiseled, with light black stubble on his jaw and slicked-back dark hair. He's painfully handsome and exudes dominance. I'm afraid of him. Not from just the way he looks at me, but the detachment in his eyes. It screams one word, over and over again – sociopath.