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I’m stunned that Salvatore thinks any of this is a good idea, ring or no ring. Parading me around on his arm already, in front of his family. I could say anything to them. I could do anything. I could humiliate him, or scream at them all, or act like an absolute animal while eating dinner with my bare hands and gargling my drink.
…but I know, deep down, I will do none of that.
I will be good.
Maybe if I pretend it’s self-preservation instead of perversion, I’ll even feel better about it.
I dress early. Salvatore is lucky that Ava is perceptive and knows just what I need—otherwise, I’d be without jewelry or a tasteful perfume, none of which his own men had been insightful enough to get me.
As I double-check my appearance in the full-length mirror, a commotion outside draws my attention to the window. I open up the glass and lean out, looking down in the front yard where a rowdy little boy comes barreling up the driveway. A girl, maybe an older sister, wanders behind.
The boy yells again.
A pitched, “Uncle Sal!” rings out across the estate, his little legs pumping as hard as they can carry him.
It doesn’t register who the boy could possibly be talking about until he tackles himself, full speed, into the dark figure just on the edge of where I can see. I’m floored as I watch Salvatore—‘Uncle Sal’—lift up the boy and spin him around with a roar.
“I got a scar like yours now,” I hear the boy boast, pointing somewhere near his chin.
“He ran into a table,” the sister drawls.
“No, I didn’t!”
“That’s how I got mine, too,” the man says, wheeling the boy around.
It’s Salvatore’s face, his voice, but it can’t be him. My brain can’t process it, can’t make the puzzle pieces fit together. They’re not just the wrong shape, I’m not even sure they fit the same picture.
Whoever that man is—Salvatore or not—I’ve never met him before in my life.
So stunned, I almost don’t notice the third figure that comes walking up the driveway with angry, quick steps. The woman is escorted by two men carrying the family’s luggage from the car. Her dark jacket sways with every step, tall boots marching without pause. Sunglasses hide her face beneath dyed, blonde fringe. Salvatore says something to her, something I can’t hear through the distance and the boy yelling about getting to leave school—but the woman does not look at him, does not speak to him.
In the floors below, the front door slams so hard, it rattles the floorboards beneath my feet.
The muffled sound of children fills the house after that. I hear the occasional yell or little feet running up and down distant hallways. Another hour or so passes before I hear a different tread of footsteps in the hall—for my own sanity, I’ve hidden all the clocks in the room. Time and I are not on speaking terms.
I’ve spent my endless afternoon looking into the mirror more than Narcissus himself; I’ve gone back and forth between dresses, twisted my hair into different styles, and recolored my nails twice over. I’ve pulled my hair up, allowing only a few strands to hang loose around my visible collarbones.
I am finally forced to go back and confront the ring.
It feels heavy and awkward on my finger, as though it doesn’t belong there. I debated wearing it but eventually, I gave in. It’s just a meaningless, expensive rock, and it’s not worth making waves over. Not when I have a chance to prove that I can be compliant even when outside of these four walls.
Salvatore enters the room. The time for second-guessing is up. I stand, braced for his judgment. His eyes sweep over the evening gown I’ve chosen—my biggest uncertainty. All those dark, sensual pieces that his men picked out hang ignored in the wardrobe. Instead, I’ve chosen one of the gowns that Ava bought at my request: simple and champagne colored, its nearly sheer material weightless, with a subtle beading running through the design.
If I’m going to present myself before his family, I am not going to do it in a dark, bold piece that makes Salvatore and I look like a packaged deal. Instead, I hope the dress sets me apart from these people, from this life—I want it to say I’m innocent in all of this.
I watch his face, my breath held, uncertain if he will approve.
He slams the door shut with one hand without ever taking his eyes off me.
I jump at the sudden noise, Salvatore prowling further into the room. My silver stilettos wobble uncertainly beneath me. I beg them not to give up on me now.
“What?” I ask, my heart pounding from the look on his face.
“You’re really going to test me tonight, aren’t you?” he growls lowly. I still can’t decide if he’s upset or not, my pulse rocketing as I try to read him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You want me to sit next to you in this all evening and still keep my hands off you?” His huge hands wrap around my waist, pulling us body to body. “Dolled up like a fucking princess tempting the dragon.”
