“It doesn’t matter to me what he deserves.” Julian’s voice lashes at me like a whip as he uses his grip on my hands to pull me closer. Leaning down, he grits out, “I want him out of your mind and out of your life, do you understand me?”

The burning in my eyes intensifies, my vision blurring from unspilled tears. Through the haze of panic clouding my mind, I realize there’s only one thing I can do to stop this—only one way I can prevent Jake’s death.

“All right,” I whisper in defeat, staring at the monster I’d fallen in love with. “I will do it. I will marry you.”

The next hour feels surreal.

After calling off his henchmen, Julian introduces me to a wizened old man wearing a Catholic priest’s robes. The man doesn’t speak English, so I nod and pretend to follow along as he chatters at me in rapid-fire Spanish. It’s embarrassing to admit, but the only Spanish I know is from my classes in high school. When I was growing up, my parents spoke English in the house, and I didn’t spend enough time with my abuela to pick up anything more than a few basic phrases.

When my introduction to the priest is over, Julian leads me to another room—a small office that has a desk and two chairs. As soon as we get there, two young women enter the room. One of them brings in a long white dress, while the other one carries shoes and accessories. They’re friendly and excited, chatting with me in a mix of Spanish and English as they start doing my hair, and I try to respond in kind. However, my answers come out awkward and wooden, the growing knot of dread in my chest preventing me from acting like the eager young bride they expect to see. Noticing my lack of enthusiasm, Julian shoots me a dark glare, then disappears, leaving the women to fuss over me.

By the time they’re done prettifying me, I’m both mentally and physically exhausted. Even though Chicago and Bogotá are in the same time zone, I feel jet-lagged and utterly drained. A strange numbness steals over me, easing the churning tension in my stomach.

It’s happening. It’s really happening. Julian and I are getting married.

The panic that gripped me earlier is gone, having mellowed into a type of weary resignation. I don’t know what I expected 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.”