She feared she couldn’t go through with it.

Antonella Rossi gazed at herself in the mirror, her wedding veil pinned to the glittering crown on her head. Her eyes glistened with sudden tears. She did not recognize herself. Who was this girl with the ruby-red lips, the smoky eyes, and the winking jewels at her throat?

For fourteen years, she’d lived in the shadows—not because she’d wanted to, but because she’d had to. When her cousins were wearing the latest fashions and getting their hair and makeup done at salons that cost a fortune, she’d been left behind. What was acceptable for her cousins was deemed too extravagant for her.

So she’d holed up in her room, reading books and dreaming of the day when she would be old enough to make her own decisions.

She hadn’t realized that day would never come to pass.

In twenty minutes, she was marrying a complete stranger and jetting off to a foreign land so that her aunt and uncle and cousins could continue to enjoy themselves here in Virginia with their fifty-acre estate, their wine cellars, their racehorses, and their busy social calendar.

Apparently, being the exiled royal family of Capriolo was an expensive job—and they were running out of money.

Ella was the expendable one. For sale to the highest bidder. The sheikh with a penchant for virgins had won out against the other men they’d tried to sell her to. She didn’t know what he’d promised them, but she knew it had to be something akin to the moon.

If only she weren’t a virgin, he wouldn’t have wanted her. He’d have moved on to someone else, and maybe Ella could have had a life of her own choosing someday.

A hard rap at the door made her jump.

“Ella!” her cousin Luciana snapped. “It’s nearly time. Get out here and stop being so spineless.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called. “Fixing my veil.”

“Hurry up then. Sheikh Fahd is getting impatient.”

The name made her shiver. She’d tried not to think of the sheikh too much, but she was soon going to have to face him at the altar. He was more than twice her age—fifties or so—and while he’d been pleasant enough, there was something about him that unnerved her. Perhaps it was the gleam in his eyes when he’d talked about how he would be gentle with her when he bedded her the first time. Or perhaps it was the hooded hawk that a servant carried around behind the sheikh. She felt sorry for the bird and afraid of it at the same time. What kind of man demanded that he be accompanied by a hooded raptor in polite company?

Her stomach twisted. No, she couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do it. If she did, she’d be like that hawk. Hooded, controlled, a possession to be paraded.

Before she could change her mind, she ripped the crown and veil from her head and set them on the counter. Then she unclasped the jewels and left them too. There was no time to change from the white satin gown with the seed pearls and Swarovski crystals sewn into the bodice. She lifted the heavy skirts adorned with acres of lace and swished toward the exit.

She pressed her ear to the door to listen. Then she opened it carefully and peeked out. The hall was clear. Her cousin had gone back outside to the garden where the ceremony was to take place.

Ella hurried down the hall, her skirts sliding silkily together. There wasn’t a lot of time. She reached the front entrance without running into a soul, thank God. Her heart pounded in her throat as she considered her next move.

Outside lay a long stretch of lawn and tall wrought iron gates that closed off the estate from the road. There would be security guards.

And she was in a wedding gown. Ella frowned. She shot a glance over her shoulder. The house remained empty, but it would not for long. Everyone was in the back garden, beneath the tent set up for the occasion. If she didn’t show up soon, they would come looking for her. She had to go. Now.

She yanked the door open. Rain fell lightly onto the steps. She gathered her skirts and stepped outside. Two valets stood off to the side, intent upon the cars and whatever animated conversation they were having.

She thought of her uncle—of what he would do today with a wedding on the estate. There would be guards at the main gate, checking IDs. She couldn’t go that way.

Unless she drove out. She stood, thinking. Yes, driving was the way to go. If the guards gave her any trouble, she could just keep driving until they got out of the way.

She knew from experience of previous gatherings on the estate that the keys were in each car. All she had to do was choose one on the farthest edge of the parking area and steal it.

Heart in her throat, Ella made her way down the stairs as the rain picked up. The valets still hadn’t stopped talking as she ducked between a row of cars and crept toward the end. She had to get the last car. A car that faced out. And she had to pray it was not a standard transmission.

When she reached the last car in line, she opened the door and slipped inside. Her skirts were heavy with rain and awkward, but she piled them inside, balling them up beneath her, and locked the doors. The car was a Mercedes.

And there was no key. Simply a button. Her stomach flipped. Now what?

She’d only ever driven golf carts around the estate. But a car couldn’t be much different. Except for this push-button thing.

She pressed it—and nothing happened. She glanced up in a panic as the rain began to beat down on the car. The valets were nowhere to be seen. Ella ripped open the glove compartment and found the car manual. After a few moments, she found what she wanted.

She put her foot on the brake, pressed the pedal, and the car purred to life. Another quick check of the manual and she had the car in gear, easing it out of the line. She spun the wheel toward the gates and pressed the gas.

The car lurched, but she didn’t give up. She found the sweet spot and it rolled smoothly—if slowly—down the drive. The windshield wipers came on automatically, shoving the rain away. She was glad for that.

There were two guards at the gate, but neither of them tried to stop her. The rain was hard enough now that all they must have seen was a car with a woman inside. She eased through the wrought iron gates, her skin clammy with sweat, and came to a stop at the road. She didn’t know which way to go.

A glance in the rearview revealed one of the guards sprinting toward her. Ella panicked and spun the wheel left while pressing the gas. The tires spun and the wheel jerked.

“Please,” she begged. “Please don’t make me go back.”

The tires stopped spinning and the car shot forward. She held on for dear life and prayed she didn’t go into the ditch.

Because if she got caught—if they dragged her back to marry Sheikh Fahd—her life was over.