THE CEREMONY

The wedding had not been anything like I had imagined weddings to be.

No flowers. No music. No one there but two lawyers who were bored and a judge who was annoyed he was working on the weekend. The ceremony took place in a chapel that Dante owned; of course he owned a chapel and it all did not even take a quarter hour.

I wore a white gown I'd dragged out of the depths of my closet, one I'd bought for a charity event two years ago. It was too tight now, or maybe that was just my chest shrinking in terror. Charlotte'd suggested going, but I'd refused. There are some things that are best done alone.

Dante wore black. Right, I thought. As if he'd been to a funeral instead of a wedding.

Maybe he had.

The judge mumbled through the vows in a flat voice that made it sound as if he did this kind of thing all the time. Contract weddings, no doubt. Business deals between powerful people who use love like they'd use a quarterly statement.

"Do you, Isabelle Marie Ashford, take this man…"

"I do," I replied before he could get it out.

Better to do it fast, like tearing off a Band-Aid.

Dante's gaze shifted to mine. I couldn't decipher his look.

"¿Y tú, Dante Alessandro Marchetti, aceptas a esta mujer…."

"I do."

His voice was firm. Certain. Like he was confirming a restaurant reservation.

"Then by authority vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The judge closed his book with a snap. "You can kiss the bride if you want to, but it isn't legally necessary."

Dante didn't move. Didn't lean towards me. Just signed the marriage certificate with fast, businesslike strokes, then pushed it across the table to me.

My hands shook as I signed my new name. Isabelle Marchetti. It seemed foreign on paper. Like it was written for another. 

The lawyers signed as witnesses, tucked away their fees, and left. The judge brought up the rear. Before long, we were the only ones in the chapel, officially married, and Dante hadn't yet touched me.

"Well," I lied in silence. "That was romantic."

"Romance wasn't in the contract." He crumpled his copy of the certificate and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "The car is waiting. We should depart."

"Depart where?"

"Home." The word tasted strange in his mouth. "Your belongings have already been shifted to the estate. Your mother and sister have moved to a house in Connecticut. Paid for, utilities included, medical attention taken care of for your mother. All as contracted."

He said it like he was expecting thanks. Like I was going to thank him for shattering my world and putting the pieces back together.

"Can I see them? Before we leave?"

"No."

Like that. No sorry, no let me persuade you.

"They're my family…. "

"And now I'm your family." His voice turned icy. "The quicker you accept that, the better this will be."

I had wanted to fight him. Wanted to scream that he couldn't just cut me loose from all the people I loved. But the deal was done. The price was agreed. I'd sold myself, and it looked like this was what I was worth.

The ride from his home to his compound was forty minutes. A driver I had never seen navigated unfamiliar streets with Dante tapping away on his phone, responding to emails as if I did not exist. I watched the city give way to suburbs, then fields, then nothing but trees and solitude.

As we finally pulled through iron gates that looked like a prison, my stomach dropped.

The house rose up before them like something from a gothic romance novel. Stone walls. Tall windows. Towers that undoubtedly had great views and terrible cell phone signals. It was quite much the way old churches are quite much, namely imposing but unfriendly, built to awe and not to comfort.

"Welcome to Blackthorn Estate," Dante said, parking in front of enormous double doors. "Your new home."

The doors had already swung open by the time we reached there. A gray-haired woman in her fifties stood in the doorway, dressed in simple black clothes, her hair pinned back into a stern bun.

"Mrs. Chen, this is my wife, Isabelle," Dante declared abruptly. "She'll need to go around the house with a tour and rules are handed out. I have some calls to make."

And then he just walked out. Left me there standing with a stranger in a place that was more museum than house.

Mrs. Chen smiled stiffly but warily. "Welcome, Mrs. Marchetti. If you follow me, I'll take you to your room."

"Our room," I automatically corrected.

She hesitated. "Mr. Marchetti has his own private quarters. Your suite is located in the east wing."

Of course he did. Of course this marriage wouldn't even include sharing a bedroom.

I followed her down corridors that seemed to exist eternally, by rooms full of furniture that probably cost more than my childhood home. Everything was pristine. Clean. Sterile. Like a hotel that wouldn't take guests.

My room was larger than my entire apartment in the city. Bedroom, sitting room, bathroom with tub large enough to swim in. My clothes were unpacked and in a closet the size of a small bedroom. Everything is neat and in order.

Everything except me.

"Dinner is at seven," Mrs. Chen said. "Mr. Marchetti likes to be punctual. Do you have any questions?"

About a thousand. I shook my head.

When she left, I sat on the bed and looked at the bride looking back at me in the mirror on the opposite side of the room. She was dressed in a white wedding gown and had a gold ring on her left finger. She looked like a bride. 

She looked like a prisoner.

I heard the sound afterwards. The metallic clink of locks is fascinating. Not on my door I glanced, and it opened without a hitch. But somewhere in the house, alarms were sounding. Gates closing. Alarms are being enabled.

Locking the world out.

Or locking me in.

I spun and walked to the window, looking down at the ground far below. Gardens extended in every direction, pretty and empty. And beyond them, walls. High stone walls with cameras at the top.

This was my life now. A gilded cage.

I married a stranger to save my family.

Now I had to learn how to save myself.