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)
I swallow hard. “I used to be easy. Before everything went to hell.”
Helen ties off the last knot, fingers lingering against the small of my back like she wants to say more. “Turn.” She taps my hip.
I rotate slowly, the dress fluttering around my legs in a cloud of ivory.
A mirror stands in front of me, and I don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. It’s not that I don’t look like myself, but because now I look like a bride. I always thought I’d be excited for this moment, but instead, as the tears fill my eyes, I’m scared.
What will happen to me once I’m his?
Helen steps closer, reaching for the veil draped over the chair. “Ready?” she asks, the word thick.
“No,” I answer, not even pretending. “But go ahead.”
She lifts the veil slowly, hands careful. Then she adjusts it around my face. “You are so beautiful,” she whispers, voice breaking. “They don’t deserve to see you like this.”
A lump punches the back of my throat. “Then maybe we should just skip it.” I force a hollow smile. “You can help me climb out the window. I’ll hitchhike to Canada. They have really good healthcare. It can’t be that bad.”
Her smile falters, grief sliding over her face like a shadow. She presses her lips together, glancing toward the door as if it might sprout ears. “You know we can’t.” She breathes. “Not now.”
“Because he’ll find us,” I say quietly.
She closes her eyes for a moment, lashes damp. “Because he already has,” she answers, and I swear the air feels thinner.
I want to ask her more. I want to say his name and hear what she thinks of him. The boy who fixed our doors and kissed me under the stars. The man who burned down my father’s empire and came back with a ring and a cage.
But she’s already risking everything by being in this room with me and talking to me about it.
A knock sounds, two sharp raps on the door. My mother’s rhythm. I’d recognize it anywhere.
Helen’s hands drop instantly, posture straightening. “Are you ready?” she asks again, but this time, it sounds like a script.
“I’m dressed,” I answer. “That’s as close as we’re going to get.”
She gives me one quick, fierce look—something like I’m sorry and be careful and you are stronger than you think all wrapped into one—and moves to open the door.
My mother slips in, her champagne-colored dress is tailored and elegant. Her eyes find me. “You look very nice, Victoria.”
“Thank you.” I force a crooked smile under the veil. “In my opinion, I look like a very expensive hostage.”
“Victoria,” she warns.
“What?” I ask. “Too soon?”
Helen’s eyes flick to mine in the mirror, a silent plea to stop. Not make this worse. As much as I love her, I’m not sure I’m able to do that. I’m feeling extra prickly today.
I exhale slowly, lungs pressing my corset. “Is he here?”
My mother hesitates a moment too long.
My heart drops. “He is,” I answer myself, the words flat. “Of course he is. God forbid he ditch me at the altar. I’d happily welcome that.”
Her jaw tightens. “Your father is waiting in the hall,” she says instead. “We should go. The priest . . . he doesn’t want to be kept waiting.”
Of course, he doesn’t. Poor man probably didn’t expect to risk his soul over a private Mafia-adjacent hostage wedding when he woke up this morning.
Helen steps back, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my skirt. “Walk slow. The dress is heavy.”
“The dress is the least heavy thing in this room,” I mumble, before my mother hooks her arm through, pretending to be the perfect mother.
Too little, too late, woman. No one in this house is fooled by your act.
We move toward the door, then head out into the hallway. We keep walking until we see my father. He’s waiting at the end, near the side entrance that leads toward the backyard, where my mother wants the ceremony to take place.
While Lorenzo has been clear that this wedding will be a secret—why, I have no clue—my father still dresses the part despite the lack of cameras to document it.
He’s in his black tux, shoulders rigid, expression carefully arranged into something neutral and proud. But his eyes are . . . off. Too bright. Too sharp.
He looks at me, mouth opening to speak. Here it comes. “You’re late.” He checks his watch purely to be an asshole.
“I’m worth waiting for,” I answer, my chin lifting.
He huffs through his nose. “Let’s not keep him,” he says, holding out his arm. “The sooner this is done, the sooner—”
“We can start pretending this wasn’t your idea?” I finish, sliding my hand into the crook of his elbow.
His jaw flexes. “It was this or ruin.”
I look straight ahead. “You chose you,” I say quietly. “It’s fine. I expect it by now.”