Cristiano stood before the mirror, giving his tie a tug; then checked the cut of his vest in the mirror.

He'd lost his temper and still winded by his outburst and his choice of punishment for her.

Threatening to kill her friend and forcing her into marrying him was no way to make her fall in love with him. It was not the way he wanted this to end with only a mere week before her brothers arrival to the castle.

But it was her punishment for denying him. He hadn't expected her to be such a tempting little firecracker who tested his patience like no other human being has ever dared.

Now they'd be joint at the hip.

Her name next to his on a marriage certificate.

It was a notorious fact that he liked women–loved them. He just never thought he'd marry one. Ever. He was fairly content in his life. A comfortable home, enough money to last a century. He had friends, led a good life. Why on earth would he ruin that with marriage, he wondered briefly.

Because you wanted her as your own, his conscious reminded him. In very way possible.

Cristiano twisted his neck, cracking the joints to relieve the stress. He'd made up his mind. She would be his wife. His only one ever and he had a feeling, from the bottom of his black soul, that he was the one who was doomed when all was said and done.

According to the reports brought to him, his bride's progress was coming along slowly. She was quiet and sullen and proving to be difficult in her transformation from prisoner to bride, lacking the gusto any other woman in her shoes would have been. It appeared the process was a painful one for her and the women involved watching over her.

But it was the only way to ensure her cooperation.

A perverse side of him enjoyed the prospect of her as his bride. She'd make a good princess. Yasmina had a loyal and pure heart and he was sure, if the turn of events were different, she'd make a Princess like no other. She'd rule beside him and make his country proud.

Mateo burst into the room disturbing his thoughts.

"What is the meaning of this, Your Highness? The servants are readying the ballroom for your wedding?"

"Yes." Cristiano answered with a careless shrug as he was helped into the navy blue coat of his tux by his personal tailor who stood there assisting him as he dressed. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and shrugged it on.

"You're marrying that, that prisoner?" Mateo asked in outrage, pacing the floor.

"Don't be indecent, Mateo." Cristiano warned. "She is to be my wife and the Princess of this country. I'd tread with caution before you say something disagreeable of my bride."

His right hand man flinched, then fell silent, staring at him in disbelief.

"She's changing you. Her presence here is softening you. Where is the Cristiano I know?" He argued. "Where is the man who calculated every move before making it? What about Sofia?"

Selecting a cologne from his expensive collection, Cristiano turned on him, his gaze hardening.

"Don't bring Sofia into this. My bride is paying a dear price for defying me. Her brother will be here in a few days. Nothing has changed. The plan is still on course."

Mateo stopped pacing and met him eye to eye. "Don't go through with this. You're making a big mistake. Marrying the girl who sole purpose is to bring her brother here to pay for his sins against Sofia will turn against us." He warned.

"I never go back on my word. You of all people know this. If I were you, I'd get ready. You will be standing beside me as I marry her today."

Mateo muttered a curse and left the room. Cristiano stared after him, his anger rising. Where he usually welcomed Mateo's counsel, today of all days, it was most certainly not welcome.

*****

She was installed in a huge, airy suite decorated in rose-plush velvet. It had a sitting room with a milk-white fireplace mantel carved immaculately and a balcony off the room with a panoramic view.

She stared at the connecting door to the new room. A door which led to Cristiano's personal rooms.

As soon as she switched into her new accommodations, she was ushered her into the grand bathroom where everything was made of the finest marble. Her skin was scrubbed with rose-scented soap, her hair washed and combed until it was soft and shiny, in preparation to marry their Prince. Every inch of her skin was perfumed with a rose scented cream as the scent assailed her nostrils. A small army of maids had came in carrying various garment bags which she guessed were probably wedding dresses.

Jasmine's stomach performed its hundredth somersault of that morning. She felt nauseated. Lost. Scared. Lonely. Helpless.

"Try to smile, signorina." (Miss)

Jasmine was urged to sit on the stool in front of a dressing table in her new royal apartments as her hair was being styled.

Humming to herself, the hairdresser pinned and fastened her hair into a French knot. A jeweled tiara was placed on her head. It wasn't made of crystal like most knockoffs, this was the real thing. It glistened and twinkled, every royal diamond intricately placed.

It was richest thing she had ever seen.

"This has been in the Russo family for generations. It is a great honor to wear such a piece." One of the maids commented handing the delicate crown to the hairdresser and placed on her head.

Jasmine sighed in frustration for there was one last item to finish her wedding outfit. The veil. It had a scalloped border of French lace accented with dazzling Swarovski crystals. It was pinned directly behind the crown, flowing gracefully past her shoulders, and trailing behind the dress.

Next, a maid approached with a box. The lid was flicked open. It was a jewelry box. A heavy necklace was secured around Jasmine's neck. She couldn't help sneaking a sideways look in the triple mirror.

The necklace was lined with one carat white diamonds and felt heavy on her neck, nestling between her breasts. The dress she reluctantly selected was ivory silk with a deep v-neck and lace sleeves. The top was covered in lace, the skirt was full and layered like a cloud. Long satin gloves graced her arms and her heels were also satin with crystals decorating the heel.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the dress she selected was meant for her. It complemented the color of her skin and the shape of her body. Classically beautiful, she turned to glance behind her at the back loving the fact her upper back would be exposed in an elegant way of course.

However, she wanted to cry when she stood in front of the mirror. She was far from home and her family, and nothing now could ease the homesickness festering within her chest. She was supposed to be like all brides–happy and eager to marry her groom. She was meant for a man that valued her like a rare flower and planted her in his heart like she belonged there.

This was a day that was supposed to be shared with family. Her mother and sister should be the one's beside her making sure she looked perfect for her wedding day. Not a bunch of strangers that didn't care about her except for their selfish masters demands.

She was supposed to plan her wedding venue. She was supposed to select the flowers, the cake, her dress. . .

But this wasn't real. Life wasn't some storybook fairy tale.

Cristiano wasn't her true Prince in shinning armor who was going to sweep her off her feet and carry her into the sunset on his white horse to their happily ever after. She was marrying the villain in the story–the tyrant Prince. Not the hero.

Dear God. What have I ever done to deserve this? She thought miserably. For the first time, she fully realized the depths of her bad luck. That she was to be married to a ruthless, handsome prince who's cold heart would unfortunately never pound for her that way.

Gathering all the poise she possessed, she turned around staring straight ahead at the direction of the door, awaiting her doom. She wasn't consciously aware when a bouquet of bridal flowers was carefully placed her hands. Her fingers automatically clasped the bouquet of pink-tinged orchids in a death grip. Jasmine kept her gaze fixed on the door as she trembled.

She knew she was stronger than she imagined. She could do this. This was a test of her courage.

"You are very beautiful, Miss." on of her maids murmured, adjusting the veil over her face.

Jasmine wasn't capable of framing an answer. Her despair had taken off to panic. She'd lost her will.

When her three attendants escorted her down the flight of stairs in the back of the castle, she followed. They were chanting solely and rhythmically in Italian. She didn't understand but she was almost certain it was a traditional ceremonial song. They helped her over a low, circular stone wall and lead to another part of the castle she had never seen before– the ballroom.

As she stepped into the room, she gasped at the splendid beauty of the large historic room. The polished marble floor was beige with intricate delicate designs detailing the floor. Beautiful, elegant chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling– ceilings higher than the other rooms in the castle. There was a large amount of space for dancing and social gatherings. She can well imagine it'd been used for many formal parties and balls in it's prime years.

A sea of flowers loomed as a back drop for the wall where she supposed they were going to officiate the marriage. Candles illuminated certain areas, forming a circle. She vaguely wondered how the staff brought all of the decor together at such short notice in one day. A narrow white carpet strewn with rose petals seemed to stretch a mile before her, and at the end of her walk waited a man.

She swallowed hard and ignored Cristiano.

To Jasmine's utter shock and amazement, Sammy emerged from her right dressed in a black suit and white shirt. His eyes widened with he saw her, noticing he gulped heavily and pulled at his collar as if he were being choked. He looked as uncomfortable for her as she felt. To further her surprise, he offered his elbow.

He mouthed the word sorry. Jasmine was tight lipped and could only manage a small nod, circling her arm into his proffered arm. She almost cried. Never in her wildest dreams would she thought Sammy would be walking her down the aisle.

Was this Cristiano's peace offering of some sorts? To have someone there beside her to help ease the strain of the event?

"Look at him standing next to the priest looking like a sinful snack." Sammy muttered a whisper as they marched slowly.

Jasmine's eyes widen but managed to continue to stare straight ahead not seeing anything before her.

"He almost killed you and you have the audacity to check him out?" She whispered back behind the veil.

"He's too pretty to hate. Besides, he wouldn't stoop to this level if he wasn't clogged from the brain to balls for you."

Jasmine shook her head silently. All Cristiano wanted was to control and lock her in place like some chess piece he could move however he wanted.

The judge beamed in approval once he saw her. She was sure he wouldn't feel so benevolent if he suspected the truth of deception that led her to marry their Prince. Speaking of the Prince, he was waiting, framed by an array of flowers–pink and red roses. It was a shame she had recently grown to detest roses–the signature flower he insisted on sending her nearly every week with his riddles.

The only guests were standing beside him–his right hand man, Mateo and a couple other men who she quickly assumed were high ranking officials.

The only one in support of her was her dear friend, Sammy. And she was so glad, however, small it may seem to someone else, that he was there by her side and supporting her although they had the choice stripped from them. Her chest tightened painfully as she came down the aisle toward him.

Cristiano was looking at her as if she was the center of the universe. It nearly made her stop in her tracks. Never, in her wildest dreams, she'd picture him ever looking at her like . . .was she imaging it? Her chest tightened painfully. For a crazy moment, she wished this were a real wedding that marked the beginning of a real marriage. She wished her parents and her siblings were present. She wished her grandparents could have seen her. Wished her groom was someone who loved her. . .

She wished he hand chosen to take her for his wife, not hold Sammy at gunpoint in order to get her to agree. Yet, even as Jasmine acknowledged that heartfelt longing, she knew a marriage between her and Cristiano would have been impossible under normal circumstances. They were not lovers–they were not in love like portrayed in the novels she'd read.

Love took time to bloom, it needed nourishment to grow. Love was not built on lies and deceit as Cristiano had shown her.

She was simply his prisoner that he wanted to punish to prove a point. Whatever attraction she felt towards him was dulling. His actions were causing a black hole to encompass her soul. She was turning bitter and her spirit was fading.

For a panicked moment Jasmine wanted to turn and run. Her composure was stretched thin from this whole ordeal.

She swallowed hard and took a step forward and then another, slowly closing the distance between her and her groom. Her heart began pounding so hard it felt as though it would break through the wall of her chest. Jasmine felt lightheaded by the time she reached Cristiano's side. He sends her a silent nod, a ghost of a smile hovering over his lips.

Someone lifted the bouquet from her hands and Cristiano raised back her veil. She could feel his warm breath against her cheek as he leaned forward, carefully folding the material over her arms and back. She didn't dare look at him again. She simply stood, facing froward listening to the judge's words of welcome in Italian. She watched his lips moving but she didn't understand any of it and imagined him speaking about the sacred ceremony of marriage.

Exchanging holy vows of love and commitment. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health. For richer or poorer. The sanctity of marriage and the value of trust between a husband and wife. Sacred promises that were supposed to last "until death do you part." Before she realized it, the simple, Low-key ceremony came to a near end with the exchange of wedding rings. One of her attending maids produced the rings at the right moment and pressed it into her hand.

She wanted to drop it. But she couldn't. She must sacrifice herself and slip the ring on his finger in order to keep Sammy safe. And alive.

Cristiano's fingers close around hers and he slips a large white, tear-drop shaped diamond ring on her finger. Her eyes enlarge. She guessed it was at least five-carats. It was beautiful.

The judge speaks to her next, "Prendi quest'uomo per essere too marito?" (Do you take this man to be your husband?)

She went ridged, understanding him without translation, hesitating from uttering the word yes. His words struck her like stones.

Cristiano squeezed her arm in warning.

Jasmine choked back a wail of shame and protest.

She was asked once more. And once more, she couldn't manage the simple, little word passed her lips. She was reaching the end of her endurance, scarcely holding on to her dignity with the last shreds of her strength.

"Signora?" The man prompted kindly, in a low voice when the silence had extended.

"I suggest you answer the man." Cristiano warned in a close whisper.

The judge repeats the sentence for the third time. Do you take this man to be your husband?

Jasmine closed her eyes, emotions of regret, remorse, loss, and death bubbling up inside her. Behind them materializes the image of Sammy shot dead in the head on the floor, a pool of blood quickly forming into a puddle from his gunshot wound and his eyes still open after death. It was like a scene from a horror movie.

She opens her eyes and stares directly ahead, numb, without seeing and answers, "Si."

And slips the plain wedding band on his finger.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your Princess, Your Highness."

With hatred emitting from her stormy grey eyes, Jasmine turned to her new husband, daring him to do as the officiant said. Even when she saw the smug masculine satisfaction in his heavy-lidded expression. He stared at her hungrily, as though daring her to meet his gaze and know his desire.

Before she could react, Cristiano wrapped his hands around the sides of her neck, lowered his mouth to hers quickly and plundered her pink lips to her utter shock and embarrassment. The sweep of his tongue slipped passed her lips. It was hot and rough, demanding she submit to him.

He ruthlessly stole her freedom from her.

She would never give in to him no matter the amount of power and strength he used. Her will power was stronger than anything he could ever do to her. She didn't think. She just acted.

Jasmine bit down on his tongue.

He instantly releases her and blinked in shock. A smear of blood marred his lips.

Somewhere behind her she heard Sammy gasp. "Lord have mercy!" He whispered.

Using the back of his hand he wiped his lips. Cristiano looked down at the back of his hand. Red with blood. He looked up.

"You didn't honestly believe I would make this marriage easy on you, did you?" She asks with a smug smile. "There's a price to pay for everything in life, in other words: you reap what you sow. Congratulations, Your Highness."

With a haughty sniff she turned away from her bride groom, nose in the air. The servants were still standing there, frozen, staring at her, looking shocked as if she just killed their Prince.

"Not so fast my feisty bride."

To her utter shock, Cristiano picked her up, carrying her in his arms and went quickly up the circling stairs as everyone watched on.

"What are you doing?" She asks, a deep blush rising passed her neck and flooding her cheeks. What a sight she must of made.

"Don't fret, Princess. However, we must behave as married couples do and have a honeymoon. We must show my people this is real. They haven't had a royal marriage since my parents married. You can say this union is a sort of celebration for them. Let's not disappoint them, shall we?"

Honeymoon?

"Where are we going?" She asks, alarmed.

"Not far. I have a delightful cottage about a mile from the castle I used to visit when I was a lad. It's been prepared for our arrival but the only form of transportation to reach it is on horseback." He stared at her tenderly. "We will ride my horse."

He sets her down once they reach the foyer. Cristiano walks ahead while she reluctantly follows. The double doors are wide open as they step outside. A large dark horse nickered and fretted impatiently beside a guard who held the reins. A single red rose materialized in Cristinao's hands, offering it to her.

"For you, my bride." He says.

She eyes the rose with disdain. It was a reminder of his constant torture games.

"I hate roses." She murmured more to herself than to him.