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I don’t know that I’ll be spending much time at the spa, I sign. I want to do something productive with my time when Nino’s at school. Maybe I could get a part-time job. I have an education. I’d like to put it to use.
Abella studies me, and I catch a glimpse of sadness in her features for the first time since I’ve met her.
“I get it,” she says. “You can do something else. The sky’s the limit, right? And when you’re not working, I will keep you busy. We can do lunch dates, afternoon movies, you name it. I’m there.”
I’d like that.
There is work you can do for The Society as well. She signs back. Just about every industry you could probably imagine. You’d have your choice being the wife of a Sovereign Son.
What does that even mean?
Just think of this as a kingdom. She laughs. In this kingdom, Sovereign Sons are nobility, and everyone else is just noise. Your husband will always be your king, and you are his queen. If you’re one of the lucky few, you may even learn to love each other.
I glance at the engagement ring on her finger. I’ve wanted to ask about it all day, but it never seemed like the right time until now.
Are you one of the lucky ones?
She follows my gaze, and her eyes shine with emotion. I thought I was, but we have to make the most of the cards we’re dealt, right?
I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.
No. It’s okay. She forces a smile. It’s life, right? Nothing ever works out the way we plan.
Are you okay? I ask. You’re not being forced into anything, are you?
I’m okay, she answers, sitting up straighter. My situation is complicated. A conversation better saved for another time.
I nod, not wanting to press her.
“I suppose I should let you get home.” She glances down at the therapists. “Thank you so much for your assistance today.”
“It was our pleasure.” They rise from their stools and leave us.
I follow Abella to the changing rooms, and I can’t help feeling guilty for upsetting her. The mood is noticeably different as we dress and prepare to say our goodbyes. She seems lost in her thoughts, and I hope it won’t prevent us from meeting again.
I finger comb my hair back while she reapplies her lipstick. The silence is unsettling, but Abella bounces back a moment later as if nothing ever happened.
“Before you go, I have one more thing for you.” She retrieves a box from one of the shopping bags she brought in with her.
You’ve already done so much. I glance at the box reluctantly. I feel like I owe you.
“You do.” She teases. “And you can repay me by keeping me busy with frequent get-togethers. Promise me you will.”
Of course, I sign. You’re the only friend I have here.
“You’ll have plenty more soon,” she informs me. “But be warned that many of them will just be curious about Alessio. So many have tried and failed to snatch him up for themselves. You’ve caused quite the stir by doing what they couldn’t.”
An uncomfortable heat crawls over my skin. Really?
“Don’t sweat it,” she says. “He chose you. Nobody else matters now.”
I can’t bring myself to tell her that he only chose me so I could live, not because he wants to marry me. It casts a shadow over the entire day, and now I can’t help feeling ridiculous for picking out a wedding dress as if it means something. This is all an act, and at the end of the day, Alessio made it clear it’s not going to be a traditional marriage. We won’t sleep in the same bed. We won’t have conversations as we lie together, naked and satisfied. There’s a very strong possibility that if he’s not doing those things with me, he will find someone else to provide it. Someone from the large pool of opportunities he apparently has.
My heart hurts as Abella gestures to my scarf, distracting me. “May I?”
I release a shaky breath, my eyes drifting to the box in her hands. I don’t know what’s in it, but I know I trust her. She hasn’t stared at my scars. In fact, she hasn’t shown any discomfort around them at all, and she’s already seen me at my most vulnerable today. I reach up and untie the neck scarf for her, unwrapping it with care.
She watches curiously, and her only reaction is to swallow when she sees the disfigurement left on my neck.
“Whoever he is.” She opens the box and pulls out a beautiful black lace choker. “I hope he’s rotting in hell.”
She helps me secure the choker, and I turn to look at myself in the mirror, my fingers moving over the lace in appreciation. It’s strange and surreal how much a simple piece can change the way I look and make me more comfortable in my skin.
