"I understand."
"Do you? Or better yet, do they?"
His question hangs between us for the rest of the drive. I may not know what my cousins are up to but he seems to have some sort of idea.
By the time we pull through the estate gates, my nerves are frayed to breaking point. I practically bolt from the car the moment it stops, mumbling something about not feeling good as I rush inside. In my bathroom, I lock the door behind me and lean against it, exhaling shakily. I dig into my purse with trembling fingers, pulling out the folded note. For a minute I just stare at it, almost as if I’m afraid of what will be inside. Curiosity gets the best of me though and I’m unwrapping it just as quickly.
A familiar, messy scrawl greets me.
Liana,
First, know that I love you and I'm doing everything in my power to fix this situation. Alessio is gone and his death has thrown our family into chaos that I am gradually getting under control. What he did to you was unforgivable and I’m truly sorry I wasn’t there to stop it. I’ll never forgive myself for that. Please be careful. The Sanchez family is dangerous in ways even our family isn't prepared for. Their ties to the underground give them reach beyond what we anticipated. This marriage alliance is much more complex than I thought. You won’t be able to leave without repercussions…for all of us. Antonio, Alexander, and Felix will be there if you need them. If at any point you feel threatened or unsafe, tell them. They will take you, consequences be damned. Be strong, Liana and remember you are a Manitellie.
Andre
I read it three times, my heart racing faster with each pass. Andre isn’t offering me a way out. My cousins cannot take me back. I can’t go home to Italy, back to the familiar walls of our estate and back to Andre's protection. This would cause a war. He didn’t say it exactly but I can read between the lines. This family is dangerous. More dangerous than mine. My stomach clenches as I trace my fingers over the words. If only Andre knew the truth. I've fallen for a man who isn't my fiancé at all, but instead, the guard sent to watch over me. I’ve done something far more dangerous than trying to escape. The worst part? I’m not sure I want to leave anymore.
I fold the letter carefully and move to the toilet, where I rip it into pieces and toss it inside. I flush and watch as the paper swirls down the drain, taking the evidence of my family's concern with it.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I touch my side where thedatura tattoo hides beneath my nightgown. In less than a week, I'll be married to a man I've never met. The logical choice would be to run away and never look back. But my heart whispers a different truth. Whenever I think of leaving, Frankie's face appears in my mind. The way he looked at me in that hotel room in Prescott, like I was the most precious thing he'd ever seen. The way his hands touched me, gentle one moment and desperate the next. The way he calls me "Datura”…
I know I can’t leave now. I won't run. Not yet. I'll keep Frankie a secret. I'll find a way to keep seeing him. It's dangerous and probably stupid, but it's the only thing that feels real.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Liana
Pita finds me later, her face lit up with an energy that feels almost infectious, though I’m trying my best to resist it. She bounces on the balls of her feet, unable to hide her excitement.
“It’s time for the wedding dress fitting!” she announces, her words hanging in the air.
Her words don’t bring the joy I know she wants them too, though. Instead, they hit my stomach and sink right down to the pit. I glance at her, trying to muster some kind of reaction that isn’t outright dread, but all I manage is a weak smile. She doesn’t even notice my forced reaction. Before I can protest or stall, because God knows I want to, she turns on her heel and gestures toward the stairs.
“Come on! Everyone’s downstairs waiting. They’ve got everything ready. Dresses, makeup, the works!”
Her enthusiasm is infectious and almost draws me in, but the thought of people fussing over me makes my insides twist. They are going to transform me into someone else’s vision ofthe perfect bride. My feet feel impossibly heavy as I trudge toward the staircase, dragging each step like it might actually delay the inevitable.
As I slowly descend, I hear the sound of muffled laughter and excited chatter filtering through the air. When I get to the bottom and walk into the room, I see a setup that stops me dead in my tracks. These people do not mess around.
The room is completely transformed and almost unrecognizable. Dresses are everywhere, spilling off racks and tables, cascading onto the floor like a sea of white and cream and champagne. It’s so extravagant and so overwhelming that for a moment, all I can do is gape. A laugh bubbles up unexpectedly from my mouth that makes me want to scoff at the entire situation. For a second, I feel like an outsider crashing into someone else’s fantasy. This certainly can’t be mine.
“Ah! There she is!” A voice cuts through my thoughts before I can fully process them.
Three women appear out of nowhere, sweeping toward me quickly, clearly on a mission. They’re all young, not much older than me. Maybe early to mid twenties at most. For some odd reason, that comforts me.
“Oh my God, she’s gorgeous!” one of them exclaims as she reaches out to touch my arm lightly, as if testing whether I’m real.
“No wonder she locked him down,” another adds with a teasing grin that instantly makes me feel self-conscious.
Before I can say anything, much less figure out how to respond, they launch into more chatter.
“Okay, first things first…dresses! We’ve got everything from sleek and modern to full-on princess vibes. I heard you are an Italian princess? Maybe white with a full crinoline?”
I scrunch my nose up. Maybe that would have been my first choice back in Italy. For some reason, big and white seemsmuch less appealing now. There’s also the fact that I’m not so innocent anymore…
“And makeup! Oh girl, we’re going to bring out those cheekbones.”
“Have you ever done a smoky eye? Rio loves dark makeup.”
