She shrugs. “Hate him, but love what his power brings you.”
“I somehow doubt it will bring me very much,” I tell her.
“Foolish girl,” she mumbles, turning to go. “I know a hundred women who would give anything to be where you are.”
“If you think marrying him is such a good idea, then take my place,” I tell her.
She scoffs. “I’m not part of an important family like yourself. Not beautiful.”
My family. My beauty.
My twin curses.
I’m relieved when she’s gone. I just want to mope about, as she calls it, and wallow in my own self pity.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror for the longest time. I wonder if disfiguring myself would make The Cleaver cancel the wedding? If I made myself repulsive…
No, he’d still go through with it. This marriage is all about the alliance with my family. Afterward he’d punish me, becausehewants to be the one to disfigure me.
More maids come. They deliver various pastas and pizzas and try to get me to eat. The meals are huge, three or four courses each. Far too much for me to eat them all, even if I was hungry. But it’s not surprising… the Rizzos are wasteful in everything they do, from the excessive decor of their castle, to the amount of food they cook.
I force myself to nibble on the food, if only for something to do. Thankfully, neither The Cleaver nor his father visit me again. This is my last day of freedom. The last day before I’m bound in unholy matrimony to the evilest man in the world.
The longest day of my life finally passes.
I open the gothic-style window and listen to the cicadas so common in this part of the country. Their whispered chirping used to comfort me. But not tonight.
I stare at the stars, which reflect above the infinity pool. I can see guards patrolling the grounds even at this hour.
Forever trapped.
I’m actually kind of glad about how long the day felt—it meant more time to myself before the wedding. I don’t really want to sleep, because slumber will only make tomorrow’s atrocity come all the faster. It’s a horrifying thought, imagining myself waking up only to be ushered into a dress and scurried off to a marriage to a man I hate.
I’d rather just stay up all night and think about the time I spent with Massimo. Precious time that was cut short. Just like it was eight years ago.
It’s happened again. I’ve lost him a second time. For good, now.
The tears come then. I weep there beneath the light of the stars, while the cicadas chirp in mourning.
Massimo, I wish you were alive.
I retreat to the poster bed and lay down. I stare at the black ceiling. My eyes become heavier and heavier, and finally draw closed; I can’t help but fall into the pleasant darkness of oblivion. The last thought before I go under is that sleep will be my only refuge, going forward.
But I’m wrong about even that. Because sleep is no refuge. Far from it.
Nightmares rack my slumber.
I’m back in my old house, going downstairs that Saturday morning. The morning Mamma died.
I want to stop, want to turn back and run up to my room, but I can’t. I’m locked in this memory, trapped by the dream, forced to relive it.
I have to go downstairs so that Papa can bring me to my piano lesson.
When I reach the family room, I glance at the front door. Something seems off. It’s wide open. Is that a shoe I see lying next to the door?
Well, one of the servants must have forgotten it. I wonder if I should investigate it, but I can see Papa ahead, on the far side of the kitchen. I’ll ask him about it.
As I pass through the archway that leads into the kitchen, rough hands rudely grab me. I’m hauled into the air. I slap and kick, struggling to get away. When I see the white, expressionless horror movie mask staring back at me, I scream. I strike out, hitting the edge of that mask, and lift it upward.
