My sister is too smart.
“It’s him, isn’t he?” she whispers.
My chin dips, not wanting to lie but not willing to admit the truth. When it comes to him, I gatekeep every feeling, safeguard every memory.
She gestures around to emphasize her point. “He spent millions on a wedding you planned out of spite. Even more for this gift. It will become a topic of conversation for decades ahead.”
“Not my intention,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Putting a dent in his bank account didn’t happen either.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, not even the slightest bit sorry. “He fucking told our wedding planner the first time we met her that I ‘am in a mood’ and to show me only extravagant things to splurge on.”
“At least he’s smart,” she giggles, but then a sigh replaces it. “Sadly, he’s friends with the enemy. Everyone is stressing out.”
Tristan, because I swear, he’s so high on his power, he invited everyone to our wedding. And everyone responded yes.
If my wedding ends in a bloodbath, I… I don’t even know what I will do. That’s why I postpone thinking about the implications.
“Cato hasn’t put Celia down,” my sister says, worry clear in her voice.
“She’s daddy’s girl,” I say, trying to bring some levity.
A mischievous gleam shines in her eyes. “He’s so proud of that. Can’t wait for her to grow up.”
I slap her arm playfully. “You’re evil.”
She shrugs, not sorry at all.
Another knock rings, and when I open the door, Evie lingers, hesitant to enter. “I hope it’s all right.”
“Come in,” I say, pulling her into a hug.
Our friendship is bigger than this strain, and I couldn’t be happier that she’s by my side.
She hugs me back, relief clear in her exhale, and I bathe in her comforting presence.
“He loves you, Viv. He truly does,” she whispers.
“Evie… please.”
I can’t get soft. I will marry someone who loves power games. Who loves to win. Alertness is crucial to survive this marriage sane and as unscathed as possible.
She nods, her lips pulling down.
Then pandemonium ensues as my suite fills with my family members and beauty team.
Both Chiara and Evie stay with me as I primp for my wedding day. A natural makeup enhances my features with a glow, my dark hair cascading down my back in soft waves.
My gown is a white A-line, V-neck, with long sleeves, lace appliques, and a hundred buttons running down the back. It’s pure elegance, making me feel like a princess. The jewelry adds sophistication, reminding me that starting today, I am a queen.
As I look at my reflection in the mirror, I imagine taking his breath away as I walk down the aisle. Literally. It would be the merciful thing, but with my nonexistent luck, I would waste a wish. Instead, I want him to see what he had and lost.
If I am being honest, becoming his is as binding as it is liberating.
“You look spectacular,” my father says, offering me his arm, and we go downstairs where a classic car waits for us, taking me to the church where we’ll sanctify our wedding.
“You’ve made me the happiest father alive, Viviana mia.”
