Sold By My Fiancé, Claimed By His Ruthless Uncle

The dress had pockets. I discovered them on my second turn in front of the mirror and immediately put both hands inside, ruining the elegant pose I had been attempting. Theo Vescari laughed from the doorway. “There she is.” “You say that as if I’ve been missing.” “You’ve spent twenty minutes trying to stand like someone who doesn’t carry spare tissues.” “They’re useful.” “So are you. Come here.” I crossed the bedroom in the blue dress I had chosen myself, its skirt brushing my calves. Theo caught my fingers and lifted my hand between us. The engagement ring flashed under the lamp. Tomorrow, the first of September, our families would finally celebrate us properly. The flowers were confirmed. The restaurant had the revised seating plan. My mother’s accessible car was booked, with enough time built in that nobody would have to rush her. For once, everything was done. “Happy?” he asked. I nodded, then laughed because nodding wasn’t enough. “Ridiculously.” He kissed the inside of my wrist. “My brave little harbor.” It was his name for me when the world became difficult. Tonight, with his mouth warm against my skin and tomorrow waiting, I liked being somebody’s place to come home. “You’ll crease it,” I said when he drew me closer. “I’ll accept the consequences.” “You won’t be the one ironing.” He kissed my forehead instead, solemnly, as if we had reached an important compromise. Outside, Bellacosta’s harbor lights had begun coming on. I could see them past his shoulder, scattered gold across the water. I wanted tomorrow’s photographs. I wanted my mother laughing at the table. I wanted this man turning toward me when someone called us the happy couple. *** Celeste Harlow arrived downstairs carrying two short glasses. “One last drink before you become unbearable,” my stepsister said. “I’m already unbearable.” “Yes, but tomorrow there’ll be speeches.” Theo had gone to take a call. I had changed back into my slacks and blouse, leaving the dress hanging safely upstairs. Celeste passed me the glass with the slice of orange caught against its rim. “To tomorrow.” I drank. Something bitter lingered beneath the sweetness. “Strong,” I said. “Don’t be dull.” She watched while I took another swallow. A few minutes later, the room seemed to tilt without anything moving. I set the glass down too hard. “Celeste?” “What?” “My hands feel strange.” She took my phone off the table. “I’ll get Theo.” “Give me that. I’ll call him.” I reached and missed. My fingers struck the edge of the table. Celeste stood beyond it, perfectly steady, while the floor shifted beneath my feet. “Theo,” I tried again. My knee folded. I caught fabric, perhaps her sleeve, but it slipped away. Then there was nothing. *** A hard edge pressed beneath my jaw. I woke trying to swallow around it. My wrists were fastened in front of me. A numbered plastic tab hung from a broad collar at my throat. Someone had taken my shoes and my ring. Concrete chilled my bare feet. “Don’t pull it.” The woman beside me spoke without turning her head. She was an adult, perhaps a little older than me, with a split seam at one shoulder. “Where am I?” “I don’t know the address.” Beyond a waist-high barrier stood men in dark coats. Some held drinks. A raised platform faced them, and glass divided the room from a narrow observation gallery. This couldn’t be happening in a room with drinks. “I need my fiancé.” The woman finally looked at me. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Nora Bell.” “Mara Ellery.” Saying it helped for half a second. “There’s been a mistake.” A service door opened behind us. Past it, a passage divided at a yellow floor marking. An arrow pointed right beneath a sign: SECOND HOLDING—CONTRACT SERVICE 7. A woman in socks was taken that way. The guard turned back. I ran. Three steps brought me to the doorway. My shoulder hit its frame as I tried to slip through. A hand caught the back of my collar and jerked me short. Pain dragged across my throat. Nora reached for my bound wrists before I fell. Another guard seized her arm and twisted it behind her. Her cry stopped me more completely than the collar. “Again,” he told me, “and she pays again.” “Let her go.” He held her until I stepped back into place. When he released her, she cradled her wrist against her stomach. “I’m sorry.” “Save your breath,” she whispered. Her face had gone gray. A man approached with a small recording device in his hand. “Now that we’ve finished being inconvenient.” He straightened the numbered tab at my throat. “Gideon Rusk. You’ll listen when I speak.” “My fiancé is Theo Vescari.” “I know.” “Then call him.” A smile moved across his mouth. “I have something better.” He pressed a button. Theo’s voice emerged, slightly thin through the speaker, but unmistakable. “Yes. Mara Ellery. Twenty-five. My fiancée.” I stared at the device. Gideon raised it so I could hear. “The one I call my brave little harbor. That’s her. Celeste will arrange delivery tonight.” My stomach heaved. “Stop,” I said. The recording continued. “I authorize you to auction her. Set the reserve at eighty thousand. Apply the proceeds as credit against my one-hundred-and-twenty-thousand debt to you. If she makes more, credit the full amount. I’ll settle whatever remains.” There was a faint scrape, then Theo again. “She trusts Celeste. There won’t be a problem.” Gideon stopped the recording. For a moment I heard only Nora breathing beside me. Theo had said my age. My name. The words he had put against my skin less than an hour—or hours—before. “No,” I said. Gideon slipped the device into his inside pocket. “That was permission from him. Not from me.” “You can explain the distinction to your purchaser.” I lunged for the pocket, but the guard caught my bound hands before I reached it. Gideon stepped away without hurrying. “Don’t damage the merchandise.” “Say my name.” He glanced back. “You just heard it.” “Then use it.” A few men beyond the barrier looked away. One checked his watch. I looked up because I couldn’t bear their faces. Celeste stood behind the glass. Her hair was tucked behind one ear. She had changed into a pale dress, and her left hand rested against the partition. My engagement ring shone on her finger. I lifted my bound hands. She saw me. I knew she saw me because her fingers curled, hiding the stone. “Celeste!” Her mouth tightened. “Tell them,” I shouted. “Tell them what you put in my drink.” Her hand moved to a small grille set into the partition. The intercom crackled. “Tomorrow,” she said, “everyone will hear you ran away.” She stepped back from the glass. The guard’s grip tightened. I stopped pulling, remembering Nora’s wrist, and forced myself to look toward the service passage instead. Right-hand turn. Yellow line. Contractor sign. Something real. Something I could keep. A door slammed beyond the room. The men nearest the entrance stopped talking. One set down his glass without finding a surface; it fell and broke. Gideon’s smile disappeared. A frightened guard backed through the doorway. “His uncle is here.”