Embarrassment and shame wriggle through me.My own body betrays me.I hate it.
It’ll probably choose the least opportune moment to start bleeding, like tomorrow, during the largest wedding of the year.
Not my wedding.Camilla Vivaldi—the woman I bumped into in Central Park two months ago—is marrying Dimitri Volkov, the assassin for Russia’s most powerful Bratva family.
I grab the hair dye and turn off my mind, moving through the familiar motions of preparing it, smearing baby oil on my forehead and ears so my skin doesn’t stain, then working the product over my scalp and wrapping plastic around my head before pulling off my clothes and stepping into the bath.I soak in the hot water for a few minutes before opening the drain, rising, and turning on the shower.
After a thorough scrubbing, I exit, towel dry, slather lotion over my skin, dress in the ugly nightgown, and braid my hair before tugging the hand towel off the vent and opening the bathroom door.
Worms crawl under my flesh as the sensation of being watched resurfaces.I check the lock on my door before turning off all the lights and opening the curtains.
At least with the cityscape glowing against the night sky, I feel less like a bug trapped under a boot or a science experiment stuck under a microscope.
I pull several pillows and blankets off the bed and curl up on the couch closest to the window.When my lashes droop over the view, I take a deep breath and whisper everything I wanted to tell my mother throughout the day.
I don’t know when I started the practice, but it makes me feel less alone and keeps my nightmares at bay.Even though I know she abandoned me, I miss my mama.She loved me the most in the world.Because of her, my childhood was perfect.Everyone doted on me.
Then Mario betrayed my father, my father lost faith in himself, and my mother left.
When I started talking my thoughts aloud, I tried praying, but the thought of some lofty god wasting his time on a nobody like me always felt stupid, so I naturally filled the space with the person I missed the most.
With my father constantly cursing my uncle, I was too afraid to utter—or even think—my uncle’s name for fear of losing my father’s affection.He was the only family I had left, but my father’s bitterness made him seem further away than anyone else even though he was right there.So I spoke my thoughts to my mother to stave off my loneliness.
She always supported me.Always loved me.
I slip into a doze mid-sentence and partially wake several times throughout the night but manage a few hours of decent sleep and wake feeling not quite refreshed but better than bone tired and on the edge of collapse.
My father has returned to San Francisco for a few day trips here and there, but he never offered to take me back.I’ve never been away from home this long before.
I suppose it’s to help me transition to living here as Romeo’s bride, but I haven’t seen my betrothed much.The entire situation has me feeling more unsettled as the days continue.
My escape is within reach.I’ll marry Romeo in a month.I can hold out that long.
After greeting my father and having breakfast, he assigns my tasks for the day and ushers me into motion.I work out in the gym, visit the stores he mentioned, and attend a cooking class with several older ladies who gush over me for being a thoughtful, caring daughter who’ll be an amazing wife.The entire interaction leaves me feeling raw and used, but I return to the hotel and begin the tedious process of preparing my body for Camillas’ wedding.
My father knocks on my door half an hour early.Nervous energy jitters through me and my palms turn clammy.Worry and dread eat at my insides, but I smile and hang on to my father’s arm as he leads us to the valet, impersonating the perfect companion he always expects at big events.
“Find Romeo and sit with him during the ceremony.I will be occupied and cannot sit with you.Capisci?”
I expected as much, but disappointment washes over me.It hurts to be unwanted.
When we pull up to the venue, an attendant opens my door and offers me his hand.
Broad shoulders slip in and out of view behind him.My heart leaps in joy before terror ices my veins.I pause, certain my mind is playing tricks on me.
I did not just see Mario Luciano stride around the side of the building.Even if he were alive, he’d never show his face at such a high-profile event.My father made sure everyone knows of his deceit.Too many people hate him.
I hate him.
The reminder shouldn’t fill me with sadness, but it does.
I fill my lungs and offer the confused attendant an apologetic smile before accepting his hand.My skin goes blessedly numb as I rise from the car and allow the man to lead me to the bottom of the stairs.I wait until my father offers me his arm before matching his stride up the steps and through the ornate doors.
The afternoon passes in a swarm of faces.Clouded by a million scents and lost amid a thousand voices, I drift through the pre-wedding party as though I belong when I feel way out of my depth, but my father’s watchful gaze keeps me firmly in my princess persona.
When we finally meet with Romeo, my insides are as numb as my flesh.His hand as he cups my elbow becomes the only spot of warmth in an ocean of ice, but although the sensation is grounding, it’s too weak and nowhere near comforting.
My mind compares his gentle hold to the startling power behind my uncle’s fleeting touch.
