She shakes her head, confirming what I always suspected—she stayed in Chicago for me.
“Did you know?” My voice holds absolutely no intonation.
She works for Salvatore, and warning me would have accomplished nothing. If we’d stayed in Chicago, he is the one person who would have known exactly where to look.
Isabella shakes her head again. “I am so sorry, Carina. I wish I …” Her voice trails, confirming what I already know—she can’t do anything.
I lived in Chicago at my father’s discretion, not hers.
I bite my lip and look away, fighting the burning in my eyes. I’m not at the point where I can reassure anyone else. I’m still struggling to accept this new reality.
Tonight, I’m meeting Nico Morello. Minutes later, our engagement will be announced.
Hopefully, he’s young and handsome, like Enzo said. More importantly, I hope he’s nice. Ideally, I’ll feel better about this arrangement after meeting him. But he could be the kindest, most attractive, and age-appropriate man in Italy, and I still wouldn’t want to marry him. Because it’s not my choice.
And if he’s awful? I’ve spent the past five days pleading with my father, trying to convince him to change his mind, and he hasn’t. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say to change this, and that finality will be so much worse if Nico’s not the eligible bachelor he’s being portrayed as.
“Turn around,” Isabella tells me.
I do, listening to her quiet footsteps approach. I smile—the sensation bittersweet—when I feel her tug the zipper up to the base of my neck, recalling the many times she helped me adjust outfits before. I’m assuming Nico’s house is as big, if not bigger, than this one. He must have a staff, but I’m not selfish enough to ask Isabella to remain with me. I assume she’ll be invited to the wedding, which Salvatore has hinted will happen later this summer. After that, who knows when I’ll see Isabella again? She’s safer far from me.
A lump forms in my throat.
Isabella’s hands brush my bare shoulders, and then a light weight settles against my chest, just below my collarbone.
I glance down, expecting a cross. It’s the wrong shape. The pendant hanging from the chain is circular, the diameter slightly smaller than a coin’s. I pick it up to peer closer at the surface.
“Diana,” Isabella tells me. “Or as the Greeks call her, Artemis. Goddess of the hunt.”
I stare at the design carved on the pendant—a woman with wild hair and a fierce expression, raising a bow with an arrow notched, minuscule stars scattered in the background.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“I saw it at a shop yesterday. No violin, but she reminded me of you. Fierce.”
The lump expands until I’m worried my entire windpipe must be blocked. Passing out feels like a real possibility.
“Thank you,” I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice.
I don’t feel fierce; I feel helpless.
“I should be going.”
I turn to face her and nod. “Thank you for coming.”
She cups my cheek in a way she hasn’t done since I was much younger. “It could not last forever,cara,” Isabella tells me.
I nod rather than disagree. I thought it could. I thought it would. I truly believed I’d be allowed to stay in Chicago for as long as I wanted to. That I’d spend the rest of my life as Carina Carson.
It’s now obvious everyone—including Isabella—understood that arrangement wasn’t truly for my benefit. That it was temporary. It was to keep me safe until I served a purpose. Servedthispurpose.
Isabella aims one last tender smile at me. “Call me if you need anything. Promise?”
I nod again, knowing I won’t.
I was conflicted about even requesting this visit. Any association with my family is dangerous, and the only benefit to me being pulled deeper means she’s finally free from it. I wasn’t sure Salvatore would allow her on the property. I’m not being treated as a prisoner, per se—no one has taken my phone or tried to restrict my movements. Yet I have no car, and we’re isolated enough in the countryside, which means I’m essentially stranded since there’s nowhere to walk to. Any outing would require asking my father, and I’m loath to request anything from him, except to forget this awful arrangement. To so much as speak to him since he’s repeatedly refused to.
Once Isabella leaves, I sink back down in front of the mirror.
