Outside my bedroom windows, I could hear birds. I could hear distant voices drifting through the apartment. Doors opening and closing. Footsteps moving quickly down hallways. Staff laughing loudly somewhere downstairs.
Life. Continuing. Like today wasn't a funeral. Like today wasn't the day somebody forced me into white lace and handed me over. Like today wasn't the day my freedom officially died.
My eyes burned. No. Absolutely not. I wasn't crying anymore. I refused. I rolled over violently and dragged a pillow over myface. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, they'd assume I'd died peacefully in my sleep and cancel the wedding.
Honestly? Seemed reasonable. Maybe they'd gather around my bed looking devastated. Then they'd close the casket and I'd finally get out of marrying Sergio. Problem solved.
The bedroom door opened. "She's alive."
Sienna's voice. Damn it. The pillow disappeared. I glared upward.
My youngest sister stood in the doorway wearing pale pink silk pajamas and fluffy slippers with tiny pearl bows. Her dark hair sat piled on top of her head in some ridiculously complicated arrangement that definitely took effort.
Behind her, Chiara carried coffee. Traitors. Sienna took one look at my face. "She’s not in a good mood, Chiara."
I looked away. Chiara's expression softened. "Aurora, it’s time to get ready."
"No." My voice came out rough.
Just one word. Because if Chiara used that voice, the one she only used when somebody was hurt, the one that sounded too much like our Mama… I was going to completely lose it.
She sat carefully beside me. "You need to eat something."
"No,” I said again.
"Drink something?" Sienna piped up.
"No. And fuck you both," I hissed. Silence. Then Sienna climbed onto the bed beside me and crossed her legs dramatically.
"Okay," she announced. "She's entered her corpse era. Like those Victorian women who died of broken hearts and looked hot while doing it."
Chiara closed her eyes. "Sienna, stop."
"What?" she asked innocently. "I'm helping."
I stared at my little sister. Then, against my will, I let out a tiny sob. Tiny. Barely there. A pathetic little sound. But Chiaralooked crushed. I hated that she looked like that and still wasn’t going to change a thing about my wedding.
Guilt twisted through me afterward. Because Chiara wasn't trying to hurt me. That somehow made everything worse. If she'd been cruel, maybe I could've hated her. If she'd done this to hurt me, maybe anger would've been easier. But she loved me. And she genuinely thought she was saving me. That was the horrible part.
I sat up slowly. The room felt too small. Too warm. Too bright. Like the walls had shifted closer while I slept. My eyes drifted toward the windows. Toward the dress. And everything inside me stopped.
White fabric spilled down from the mannequin in soft waves like liquid moonlight. Tiny embroidered flowers curled across delicate lace while crystals caught the sunlight and glittered faintly.
Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. Terrifying.
And I couldn't breathe. Because all I could think was… Forever. Wake up beside him forever. Smile forever. Pretend forever. Be somebody's wife forever. Belong forever. My stomach twisted violently. I stood so fast the room tilted around me.
"Aurora?" Chiara stood. “Please, talk to us.”
I walked toward the windows. Then pressed both hands against the cool glass. The city stretched beneath me in glittering silver and gold. Cars moved through streets far below. Tiny people crossed sidewalks. I swallowed hard.
"I don't want this,” I said for the umpteenth time.
No jokes, no comments. Nothing.
"I don't fucking want this," I whispered again. My voice cracked. Oh no. My eyes filled with water. “Fuck you for making me do it.”
Chiara moved toward me slowly. "Aurora, please."
