The drive passes in a blur with me stuck in my head. If I didn’t know what it felt like to love and be loved, experiencepassion, desire and lust, concoct hopes and dreams, it would have been easier, or maybe not. At least I got to live it.
The guards at the compound gate poke their heads inside the car, devices in their hands, looking for possible explosives. Security around here is unmatched.
After he parks in front of my sister’s white mansion with tinted glass, I step out.
Their housekeeper lets me in, and I expect smiles and chatter, not silence that makes me stop in my tracks.
First, I see Cato, who says, “May I have a word with you?”
He asks only because of my sister. This man used to getting his way.
I nod, suddenly nervous.
Inside his home office, he gestures toward the seating area by the window.
“Where is Chiara?”
“Mad at me,” he says, cracking his neck.
I notice the bags under his eyes, revealing he hadn’t slept well, making me feel even more jittery. My nerves shoot up, skyrocketing my pulse, which thuds a deafening rhythm. My vision blurs, every second of silence threatens to make me lose my footing. Staying upright while dread threatens to unbalance me edges on a miracle.
He opens his mouth, and I know my life will never be the same.
“You’re getting married.”
Three words shouldn’t produce a tectonic shift that tears my entire life apart. They shouldn’t have the power to make my heart stop.
The sentence riddles my body with holes, leaving a gaping, bleeding crater in the middle of my chest. Strength leaks from my battered body, and I sink into the seat, processing but not wanting to deal with the implications.
It’s over. Three simple words blast my world to smithereens—the dreams, the hopes, the love, and all that could have been.
While my heart rebels and my soul wails, my head dips in acceptance.
“Don’t you want to know more?” he asks, brows furrowing.
I lift my eyes, dejection pulling my shoulders down. “No.”
I need time to mourn the loss and concoct a plan for why I am not a virgin. I am sure I won’t be the only one who pretended to be one. With today’s information at a swipe of the finger, I shouldn’t worry. I try to focus on that and disregard my heart withering away.
Tristan pops into my head like a permanent fixture, and it kills me. He won’t understand.
“When will it be?” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut to blind myself to the impending agony.
“After you graduate. He insisted,” he says good-naturedly, as if that piece of information would make me feel anything else but dejected.
Before Tristan burst into my life, being able to complete my studies would have made me ecstatic.
Now, it seems I’ve lost everything.
I nod, incapable of forming another sentence.
“I’m sorry, Viviana. Thank you for being so agreeable.”
That puts a small smile on my face. Surely my sister gave him hell. Always the fighter.
He grips my shoulder, squeezing it lightly.
My chin quivers. “Tell me my marriage is meaningful.”
