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from a man who held me captive for fifteen months. A reasonable discussion on the pros and cons of getting married at this point in our relationship? I mentally snort. Yeah, sure . In hindsight, it’s clear that our four-month separation had dulled my memories of those initial terrifying weeks on the island—that I had somehow managed to romanticize my abductor in my mind. I had foolishly begun to think that things could be different between us, to believe I had some say in my life.
    “All done.” The woman who was working on my hair gives me a beaming smile, interrupting my thoughts. “Beautiful, señorita, very beautiful. Now, please, the dress, and then we make your face nice.”
    They give me silk undergarments to go with the dress, and then tactfully turn away, giving me some privacy. Not wanting to drag it out, I swiftly change and pull on the dress—which, like the ring, fits me perfectly.
    Now all that remains is makeup and accessories, and the two women make short work of that. Ten minutes later, I’m ready for my wedding.
    “Come look,” one of them says, leading me toward the corner of the room. There is a full-length mirror there that I hadn’t noticed before, and I stare in stunned silence at my reflection, hardly recognizing the image I see.
    The girl in the mirror is beautiful and sophisticated, with her hair styled in an artful updo and her makeup tastefully done. The mermaid-style dress is just right for her slim frame, with a sweetheart bodice exposing the graceful slope of her neck and shoulders. Teardrop-shaped diamond earrings decorate her small earlobes, and a matching necklace sparkles around her neck. She’s everything a bride should be . . . especially if one ignores the shadows in her eyes.
    My parents would’ve been so proud.
    The thought pops out of nowhere, and I realize for the first time that I’m getting married without my family there, that my parents won’t get to see their only child on that special day. A dull ache spreads through my chest at the thought. There will be no wedding-dress shopping with my mom, no cake-tasting with my dad.
    No bachelorette party with my friends at an all-male strip club.
    I try to imagine how Julian might react to something like that, and an unexpected snicker escapes my lips. I have a strong suspicion those poor strippers would leave the club in body bags if I so much as ventured near them.
    A knock on the door interrupts my semi-hysterical musings. The women rush to answer it, and I hear Julian speaking to them in Spanish. Turning toward me, they wave goodbye and quickly leave.
    As soon as they’re gone, Julian enters the room.
    Despite everything, I can’t help staring at him. Dressed in a crisp black tuxedo that hugs his tall, powerful frame to perfection, my husband-to-be is simply breathtaking. My mind flashes to our sex session on the plane, and wet heat gathers between my thighs even as my bruises begin to throb at the reminder. He’s studying me too, his gaze hot and proprietary as it moves over my body.
    “Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?” I inject as much sarcasm into my voice as I can, trying to ignore the effect he has on my senses. At this moment, I hate him almost as much as I love him, and the fact that I want to jump his bones bothers me to no small degree. I should be used to it by now, but I still find it disturbing, the way my brain and my body don’t communicate in his presence.
    A small smile tugs at the corner of his sensual mouth. “It’s okay, my pet. I think you and I are past such concerns. Are you ready?”
    I nod and walk toward him. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable; one way or another, we’re getting married today. Julian offers me his arm, and I loop my hand through the crook of his elbow, letting him lead me back into the beautiful room with the pulpit.
    The priest is already waiting for us, as is Lucas. There is also a sizable camera sitting on top of