Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Her eyebrows lift like she finds that adorable. Ice slides through my veins.
She presses her fingers to her temples, and I continue to stare at her.
“Mom.” My voice cracks. “Tell me you didn’t actually agree to this. I know the other day, Father said yes, but I thought—” What the hell did I think? I knew Lorenzo meant business. “I thought you would put him off, stretch it out until we could figure out another way.”
She stiffens, and my throat tightens. Her eyes close for a second and then reopen. “We had no choice.”
The words hit like a blade. This is really happening.
I step back. “There is always a choice.”
“Not anymore.” Her voice breaks. “Your father tried, but Lorenzo—he has everything. Believe me, your father was up all night. He’s tried everything. But Lorenzo didn’t leave us any other choice. If we don’t do this—”
“If we don’t?” My breath catches. “Don’t you mean if I don’t?”
She flinches.
I want to scream. Or cry. Or tear wallpaper off the walls.
But instead, I inhale through my teeth and whisper, “You sold me off.”
She reaches for me, pretending like she cares, but I know it’s a lie. She just needs me to fall into line.
A knock interrupts us.
A middle-aged woman walks in, carrying a few dress bags.
She beams at me. “Hello, time for gown fittings.”
I want to vomit.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s make you a princess.”
I can’t move at first. Then I do.
I’m numb to the world and currently being dragged to God knows where to try on gowns. How is this my life?
I follow her to a parlor room converted into an impromptu fitting room.
She unzips bag after bag.
Lace, satin, silk, beading, tulle, column gowns, ball gowns, mermaid cuts.
I can’t even keep up.
Fabric is everywhere.
My heart hammers, throat raw.
“I don’t—” My voice breaks. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
The woman gives me a small, sympathetic smile as she helps me step into a gown. “You’re finding the perfect dress.”
“I don’t want to.”
Her expression dims. “Some weddings aren’t about want, honey. They’re about need.”
The room tilts.
I think I might pass out.
A mirror sits in front of me, and I find myself staring at my reflection.
White lace hugs my body, but my face is pale. I look like a ghost.
More like a sacrifice.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
In the blink of an eye, I’m naked again, and then it’s a different dress, and another fitting. Another reflection I don’t recognize.
My mother appears behind me. “This will do.”
I glare at her through the mirror.
Her jaw tightens. “You have to do this.”
“No.” My voice trembles. “I don’t.”
“Yes. You do.”
I turn to face her fully, ready to scream, to unleash everything I’m holding inside . . .
“Breathe.”
I try.
I fail.
But I follow her out anyway, because everything is moving whether I want it to or not.
Because the wedding is happening. This engagement is real.
And somehow, I’m yet again the pawn.
31
Victoria
By the time the grandfather clock in the hall chimes, indicating it’s seven, I’ve already changed outfits three times and fantasized about faking my own death twice.
Apparently, neither plan is acceptable.
Which sucks.
Unlike Juliet, I have no way of making it look believable, and with my luck, I’d one hundred percent accidentally kill myself for real.
Running away is another option.
If I jumped out my window, it’s a straight shot to the backyard. I bet I could be miles away before anyone realizes I’m gone.
Who am I kidding? This place is probably locked down like Fort Knox. I won’t be able to make it out of my bedroom, let alone the house.
Take my mother right now . . .
She currently stands right in front of me, fussing with the sleeves of a black silk dress I don’t remember owning. “Stop slouching,” she smooths a wrinkle that doesn’t exist. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“He,” I echo, catching her gaze in the mirror. “You mean the monster who bought my life like he went online and ordered a bride?”
Her fingers pause. “Victoria, please.”
I arch a brow. “Which part am I supposed to be polite about? The financial collapse or the arranged marriage?”
Her mouth flattens in displeasure. Sorry, I don’t feel bad for you, Mom. “We need this dinner to go well. Lorenzo insisted it be . . . civil.”
I snort. “His version of civil involves arson and threats. Or did you forget he apparently works for the Mafia now?”
A hollow laugh escapes her. “And that is why you have to play nice.”
This is all too much.
I’m pissed and angry, yet I can't do anything about it.
Not unless I want my fiancé to put out a hit on my parents.
Well . . .
No. I don’t want that. Even if they suck as parents, I’d never wish them harm, nor would I sell them, but I digress.
With a shaky breath, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.