But I see a flicker of something reflected back at me that looks an awful lot like guilt. Since when does Belladonna feel guilty about anything? Triumph, absolutely. Smugness, sure. But guilt? Never.
I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of this. My heart aches to believe it’s because she’s shown up late, but my gut throws a fit. Something’s off with her.
She tears her eyes from mine as I absently dab at the sweat on my upper lip and her attention falls on the glittering diamond on my finger. Her eyebrows pinch slightly, but it’s enough to put my senses on high alert.
Something’s wrong.
What did she do? She’s conniving, but Belladonna never cares about anyone but herself.
“You okay, Silvie?” she asks, voice too bright as she inspects me with a pitying look. “You seem...tired.”
And there it is. There’s always a double-edged sword. A question, as if she cares, blanketed by an insult. Typical.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically before I realize that I’m actually not even close to being fine. In fact, I’m so far from fine, it’s not even funny.
But that’s just what I always say. Everything’s fine. It’s been like that for so long that I don’t know how not to just be fine. And frankly, I’m sick of it.
Is that what this is all about?
Am I having a mental breakdown at the most inopportune time of my life?
I don’t have time to dissect that thought because Belladonna steps closer, reaching for my veil that’s been painstakingly pinned to my head. Her fingers attempt to straighten it, but it doesn’t move. She sets her phone down on the vanity in front of me so she can properly adjust the veil.
I’m unable to look away from her in the mirror. She still avoids my eyes, and her shoulders are unusually stiff. For once, she doesn’t seem unruffled and always put together. There’s definitely something going on with her. Alarm bells blare in my head.
Moments ago, I wanted to flee. Now, I want to poke into my sister’s brain to discover what she’s hiding.
Her phone lights up on the vanity, stealing my attention. A name flashes across the screen, accompanied by a message. Tyler.
Wait.
MyTyler?
I frown as I register another message from him. And another. Why is my fiancé rapid-fire texting with my sister who’s acting oddly suspicious?
You know.
Of course you do.
Anxiety swells up inside me like a tidal wave. My brain works overtime as pieces start clicking into place.
Oh my God. How could I not have seen this before now?
The way she laughs at all his stupid jokes. His annoying way of taking her side whenever I complain about her drama. And that one time I swear they came out of the bathroom together.
A text flashes across the screen that stops my heart altogether.
Tyler: I don’t want to do this. I miss you already.
No.
She’s selfish, but she’s not evil. At the end of the day, she’s my sister. Surely, she wouldn’t do this to me.
Belladonna grabs her phone so fast she fumbles it and drops it. It skips across the countertop and stops inches from my hand. Without hesitation, I snatch it up. Another message comes across the screen.
Tyler: Just tell me you love me, and I won’t go through with this.
It’s not just her. It’s the man I’m supposed to marry, too.
