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I blink in shock, trying to process what he’s saying. Bell knew all along?
“You were always supposed to marry me, sweetheart,” he says. “It has always been fate.”
I’m battling to breathe. The beat of my heart becomes sluggish. My palms turn sweaty as a horrible suspicion grows with nausea in the pit of my stomach.
“When?” I say, my voice barely audible. “When did you first approach him?”
“As soon as I came into my own power.”
“When?” I repeat, feeling for something next to me to support my weight. My hand falls on the back of a chair.
“Ten years ago, when I turned twenty-three.”
Ten years ago. I was fifteen.
The blood drains from my head and drops to my feet. The world spins around me. The only thing keeping me up is my grip on the chair. The stylist fixed my nails. She glued new ones on and painted them. One breaks as I dig my fingers into the wood of the backrest for purchase.
“Evie? Do you need to sit down?”
Bell knew. He knew Roman Malan was coming for his daughter. That’s why he went knocking on doors in all the poorest neighborhoods of Johannesburg, looking for someone he could buy. He set me up. For ten long years, he trained me for this moment. He always planned on betraying me.
Breathless, I ask, “Did he know you were coming? On the night you took me. The night I was supposed to get engaged.”
“He should’ve suspected. It was foolish of him not to.”
It all makes sense, now—Evie’s hesitation before leaving for the party. She wanted to say something. In the end, all she said was, “Never mind.” That’s how easily she brushed it off, how little I mattered. They knew if it was going to happen, it was going to happen before the engagement. That’s why Warren made it easy for Roman to take me.
Warren always planned it. When he took me ten years ago, that night had been his only objective.
I was never a decoy.
I was always the target.
Fuck.
I clutch my stomach, feeling like throwing up.
Roman grips my shoulder. “Me and you, it was always meant to be. The sooner you accept it, the easier it’ll be.”
Breathing through my mouth, I suck in air. Fuck. Roman is going to kill me when he finds out the truth. I’ll bet my life Warren has already married Evie and Nathan in secret. That’s how Bell’s mind works. That’s how he plays his games. He’s like a snake in the grass.
Fuck.
Eden.
Roman’s voice is hard. “Evie, breathe.”
Eden.
My sister.
Warren won’t protect her. Like everything else, he lied about it. He used her as a sword over my head. Roman will kill me and Eden will be left to her own devices.
I cover my mouth with a hand under the veil. I have no idea what to do. I don’t know how to save my sister or myself. I’m out of options, out of plans.
Roman takes my shoulders and gives me a shake. “Get a grip on yourself. Now isn’t the time to be weak.”
No. Not now. Not now when I don’t have a plan.
Play the part. Win time.
It’s all I know. It’s the only strategy I’ve been taught.
Dragging air into my lungs, I blow it out slowly. In and out. “I’m fine.”
His features soften. “If I could, I would’ve given you something to take off the edge, but I need you lucid for later.”
“I don’t want drugs.”
His smile is approving. Encouraging. “That’s my girl.”
Offering me his arm, he says, “We have to go. The officiant is waiting.”
I place my palm on his forearm and walk next to him on autopilot while my body goes numb and my brain shuts down.
The information is an overload. It’s too much. I can’t process it. I’m trying to get around the bitter taste of betrayal, of how stupid I’ve been, while coming up with a way of saving the only person I care about, the only family I have left.
The walls and the floor vanish as I float down the hallway. It’s like an out-of-body experience.
I’m lost.
I’ve been lost for as long as I can remember, but Roman grounds me, leading me to where he wants me. No, he’s just making sure I don’t run away.
When we get to the lounge, everything happens in a blur.
Mateo and Andrew wait next to a marriage officiant. There are flowers on the mantlepiece, cocktail food too pretty to eat on the table, and champagne cooling in an ice bucket.
The officer speaks, but I only see his lips moving.
Roman says, “I do,” and slides a platinum band over my finger. Like the engagement ring, it’s one size too big. My fingers are thinner than Evie’s.
The officer asks a question.
Roman squeezes my fingers.
I look up at him. His expression is dark. Dangerous.
It’s happening too fast. I’m falling down a hole, tumbling to doom.
