Page 208 of Arrow

“What?” I asked.

“Just thinking about my wedding day,” she said with a distant look in her eyes. “It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time.”

“Was it everything you’d hoped for?” I asked, watching her reflection in the mirror as the stylist continued weaving more flowers through my hair.

Luna laughed. “Hope had nothing to do with it. I married Atlas because I couldn’t breathe without him. He saved me, Harlowe, in more ways than one. On the outside, everyone sees this devil with no remorse. A king who rules the underbelly of New York. But he’s more than that. He’s human. He loves me. I’ve seen him at his worst and his most vulnerable. That’s what marriage really is—seeing someone at their darkest and choosing them anyway.”

I considered this as the makeup artist began working on my eyes, instructing me to look up, down, and close them. The careful brush strokes felt like war paint being applied.

“I never thought I’d get married,” I admitted. “In our world, women like me are bargaining chips. I always assumed my father would use me for an alliance eventually, but I never pictured myself actually walking down the aisle.”

“And now?” Luna asked, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Now I can’t imagine not walking toward Arrow.”

The makeup artist finished applying a deep red lipstick to my mouth—Arrow’s favorite color on me. I studied my reflection, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. My eyes looked bigger, darker, framed by thick lashes and subtle smoky shadow. My skin glowed, cheekbones highlighted to look sharper, more defined. I looked like a bride, but not the kind from fairytales. I looked like a woman about to marry into power, danger, and blood. And I liked it.

A knock at the door interrupted us. Frank entered, his expression professionally neutral, though his eyes betrayed concern.

“Your father is here,” he said. “He’s asking to see you.”

My stomach tightened. I hadn’t expected my father to arrive so early—the ceremony was still hours away. Luna’s hand found mine, squeezing gently in silent support.

“Send him in,” I said, meeting Frank’s eyes in the mirror.

Frank nodded, disappearing briefly before returning with my father. Giovanni Virelli looked impeccable as always, his tailored black suit crisp, his silver hair perfectly styled. But there was something different about him today—a tightness around his eyes, a tension in his shoulders that betrayed his discomfort.

“Leave us,” he commanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

Luna squeezed my hand once more before standing. “We’ll be right outside,” she said, her eyes conveying a clear message: she wouldn’t go far. The stylists followed quickly, clearly intimidated by my father’s presence.

When the door closed, my father studied me in the mirror, his eyes—so like mine—taking in my half-finished appearance.

“You look like your mother,” he said finally, the words landing like stones in still water.

I remained silent, watching his reflection as he moved to stand behind me. His hands rested on the back of my chair, knuckles white with tension.

“I want you to reconsider this marriage,” he said, his voice low and controlled.

I laughed, the sound brittle in the quiet room. “A bit late for that, don’t you think? The cathedral’s already been secured. The guests are arriving. Your men are in position.”

“Plans can change. Arrangements can be made.”

I turned in my chair to face him directly, no longer willing to have this conversation through reflections. “What are you really saying, Father? Have you found a better deal? Someone offering more than the Romanovs?”

His jaw tightened, that familiar muscle jumping beneath his skin. “I’m offering you a way out. Before it’s too late.”

“A way out?” I stared at him, incredulous. “You’re the one who arranged this marriage. You’re the one who sold me to the Romanovs. And now, hours before the ceremony, you want me to what? Run away?”

My father’s eyes hardened. “I arranged this marriage with certain expectations. Expectations you’re clearly not meeting.”

And there it was. The real reason for his visit.

“You mean I’m not playing the spy you wanted me to be?” I said, my voice steady despite the anger building inside me. “I’m not gathering information to help you destroy the Romanovs from within.”

“You’re a Virelli,” he hissed, leaning closer. “Your loyalty should be to your blood, not to that Romanov animal who’s been pawing at you.”

I stood, forcing him to take a step back. Even in bare feet, with my hair half-done and wearing only a silk robe, I refused to let him tower over me. Not today. Not ever again.