The Test

Annalissa Hale

My stomach twists violently. Cold sweat prickles down my spine as I curl my shaky hands into fists.

Dante doesn’t move right away. He just watches me. The silence stretches and my pulse is so loud, it drowns everything else.

His hands slide into his pockets like he has all the time in the world. His gaze pins me in place, savoring my unease.

Then, finally, he steps closer. So close I feel the warm brush of his breath against my temple. I stiffen, biting back a gasp.

His hand lifts, slowly as he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear like a predator testing the twitch of his prey. I bite the inside of my cheek and continue to keep my gaze down. His fingers trail down to my jaw, holding it there, forcing me to tilt up to his eyes.

“Do you know what a husband does to his bride on their wedding night?” His voice is low.

I swallow hard. The words scrape my throat. “Y-you don’t have to…you seem tired.”

His thumb drags across my lower lip, slow enough to make me flinch. My breath shudders out, caught between terror and the awful pull of his touch.

If I push him away, will he break me in half?

I grip the skirt of my gown so tightly the seams groan.

Dante pushes me backward with a gentle but unyielding pressure until my knees collide with the edge of the bed. The petals rustle under me and I freeze.

He cages me in, bracing his palms on either side as his body crowds mine. His head dips low. His mouth finds the hollow of my neck and he kisses it, making heat sear into my skin.

His hand drifts lower, tracing the line of my waist, and every nerve in me shrieks. This is it. He’s going to take me. Now. Tonight.

My lungs burn, my body rigid, as his lips hover over mine, so close I can taste the whiskey on his breath. My heart slams once, hard, like it might burst through my chest. Then his mouth curves, pulling back just enough to make my terror collapse in on itself.

“I don’t forcefully take what’s mine,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. “That’s no fun. I’ll take you when you beg for it, Issa.”

I want to claw the smirk off his face. Instead, my knees nearly buckle.

Issa. Could it be… My fingers curl around the sheets beneath me. Issa could be Annalissa or Clarissa. I can’t jump to conclusions yet.

Dante straightens with maddening ease, unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off. Without a second glance, he strides towards the exit. He walks out the door, leaving me to stare at the rose-drenched bed.

Relief floods me. He didn’t touch me tonight.

But tomorrow? The day after? Maybe being taken would’ve been easier than the terror of waiting?

I shut my eyes, dragging in a deep breath. I shouldn’t have come to the wedding. Clarissa had run—she was supposed to marry Dante to save Dad’s company, but she’d left a note and abandoned the deal. “Dante Romano doesn’t forgive broken promises,” Dad had said. If he found out, he’d hunt her—and tear our family apart.

She ran, and I stayed. She chose freedom, and I got the chain around my throat.

But how long can I pretend to be my her?

A bitter taste floods my mouth as I swing my legs off the bed. A knock at the door makes me drag my feet toward it. I open the door to see a strange woman in her mid fifties.

She’s in a uniform but it’s different from the ones I’ve seen on the other maids. Black button-up shirt, gray knee-length skirt, and a sensible pair of Mary Janes.

“Good evening, Mrs. Romano.” she says with a curl of her lips. “I was wondering if you needed anything.”

Mrs. Romano. The name makes my jaw clench. But the way she drags it is more unnerving. Like she’s testing me.

I glance at the tag on her chest. “I would like something to change into, madam Teresa.”

Her eyebrows shoot up immediately and she glances around. “Call me Teresa, please.”

I nod. “Teresa.”

“The Don already ordered for your wardrobe to be stacked. That will be done very early tomorrow.” she says. “For now, there are a few robes in his closet. Want me to lay them out for you?”

“No. I…I’ll do it.” I stutter.

She bows once and gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Enjoy the rest of your night then. I’ll always be here if you need anything.”

She turns back and starts walking down the dim hall. I step back into the room and shut the door behind me. The thought of locking it tempts me, but what’s a flimsy bolt against a man like him? If he wanted in, the door wouldn’t even slow him down.

Plus, he said he…wasn’t going to force me. He wanted me to beg for it. Highly unlikely but how long will his restraints last?

An ache starts deep in my chest and I turn away towards the closet. I strip out of my gown into a white robe. I’m too paranoid to shower so I just sit on the couch right across the bed and hug my knees.

My gaze darts from the bed to the door a couple of times as my pulse quickens. Is he going to come back?

Hours go by and my eyelids are starting to get droopy. Dante still hasn’t come back to the room. I allow myself to close my eyes and drift off to sleep in that uncomfortable position.

If he does come back to the room, what’s the worst that can happen?

***

The moment the morning sun hits my face, I’m greeted by the sight of a few maids moving in and out of my room like goblins searching for treasure.

I sit up on the couch, stretching. My neck and back hurts but I ignore the pain and sweep my gaze across the space, taking in the flurry of activities.

One maid is tidying up the bed while another is stacking the closet with dresses. Teresa from last night is pulling up the curtains and she smiles when our eyes meet.

“Good morning, Mrs. Romano.” she says chirpily. “Did we disturb your sleep?”

I nod, rising to my feet. She had already mentioned this last night.

“All done, here, Madam Teresa.” the maid who’s stacking the closet, says.

I notice most of the dresses are brightly coloured. I gulp down, my throat tightening. Clarissa’s best colours. But I’m not her, I don’t like bright colors. They’re dressing me like her, piece by piece, until I vanish.

I tear my gaze away from the closet and turn to Teresa who’s already laying out a dress for me on the bed. “The Don wants you to meet him downstairs in ten minutes.”

I cock my head. “May…I ask why?”

“I’m not sure.”

A sudden chill runs down my spine as my mind races with different possibilities. Does he perhaps suspect something last night?

I rush through a shower and throw on the pink sleeveless dress Teresa picked out for me. It’s short on me and tight around the chest since they’re all in Clarissa’s size.

I pull my dark hair into a tight bun like my sister always does and put on red gloss. With a pair of flats to complete the look, I make my way out of the room.

With the help of a maid, I find the huge dining room just at the end of the hall.

The space is drowned in sunlight, spilling across a table that looks like it could feed twenty people. My breath falters when I see Dante sitting at the head with his sleeves rolled to his forearms.

The dark shirt strains across his chest. No tie, no jacket. Just casual shirt and slacks.

His gaze lifts, searing into me the instant I step inside, like he’s studying me.

“Finally.” His voice is low. “I was beginning to think my bride took off after last night.”

Heat slams through my cheeks. Last night. His lips on my throat, the threat of his mouth hovering over mine.

I square my shoulders, refusing to shrink under his eyes. “You told me ten minutes. I’m here in eight.”

Something dark curves his mouth. He stands, moving toward me with that unhurried stride.

His hand brushes against the small of my back as he guides me to the chair beside him. The touch is barely there, but my spine lights up like fire.

I grip the seat edge when he leans close.

“I like a woman who keeps time,” he murmurs. “Obedience suits you.”

My jaw tightens.

He pulls my chair out himself, and the heat of his fingers grazes mine when I lower into it. My body betrays me with a shiver I can’t suppress.

Platters of food crowd the table: pastries, fruits, eggs, steaming coffee. My stomach knots when I sight the peanut butter bagel, golden and dusted, sliced open and waiting.

Dante takes it. He tears it in half and spreads it with cream. Then he sets it gently onto my plate.

“Eat,” he orders softly. Not too harsh. Not too loud. Just a command.

My blood turns to ice even as the chair beneath me burns. I’m deathly allergic to peanuts. One bite, and my throat will close. My lips will blister, my lungs will seize. I’ll claw at the air like a fish tossed on shore and Dante will just sit there and watch me die.

Does he know? Is that what he wants?

Sweat beads beneath my hairline, my hands trembling against my lap. If I eat this, I’ll die. If I refuse, he’ll know I’m not Clarissa.

“Open those pretty lips, Issa. Don’t make me ask twice.” His voice is patient.

A sick churn claws up my chest. Obey and choke or defy and risk him peeling away the mask I’ve tried so hard to keep on.

Either way, he wins.