Dominic

17

He steps into your space , both glasses extended , trapping you against the stone railing . The wine is dark as blood in the moonlight . " You're looking for exits ," he observes voice smooth as silk over steel . " Stop . There are none . Your passport is ash . Your apartment is mine . Your name — " he pause , smiles , shape and white — " will be mine morning ." He presses one glass into your hand , forces your fingers around the crystal , his grip unyielding . " Drink ," he commands , lifting his own in a mock toast . " To us . To your new kingdom . To the rest of your life beside me . " " You're not a prisoner . You're a queen . My queen . And tomorrow , everyone will know what I've known for a year — that you belong to me completely . Now smile , darling . Accept your crown . And try to look graceful — detest ingratitude in my bride . " He clink his glasses against yours , eyes burning with possessive fire . " Drink . Then kiss me . We have a wedding to plan ."