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I’m lying. It won’t be fine. But I need to say the words out loud or else I won’t believe them.
“I’m sure it will be,” she says and glances down at her shoes.
She must already regret her choice.
I push open the doors and we head inside. Lycus stands at the far end of the table speaking quietly with Helen. Sophia and Anissa sit together with my mother, the three of them talking over wine. The Kazan women all have a look: dark hair, dark eyes, intensely chiseled features. Sophia’s always been spoiled and bratty, and she’s wearing some high-end dress from some obscenely expensive Parisian designer, no doubt. Her mother, Anissa, is slightly less gaudy, but still decked out with designer jewelry.
Meanwhile, my mother wears all black, the same color she’s worn since my father passed all those years ago.
“There you are,” Helen says and comes walking over, practically beaming, staring right at Camille.
Everyone’s staring at Camille.
“Helen, meet Camille. My fiancée.”
Helen squeals and wraps her in a massive hug and the look my mother gives me could melt the flesh off bone. If I had a soul, I’d feel it shriveling up.
Good thing I let that ugly, blackened thing wither away a long time ago.
“Welcome to the family,” Helen says, grinning huge.
“Thank you,” Camille says and looks at me for guidance.
I wave for a staff member to bring over some wine and shove a glass in Camille’s hand. She drains half in two big gulps as Lycus comes over and formally introduces himself.
“Should’ve done this sooner, but it’s been a busy week,” he admits.
“Lycus is my second-in-command,” I say. “The underboss.”
“Are you two related?” she asks.
Helen barks a laugh. “Lycus wishes. No, he’s just some street urchin that latched onto big brother here a long time ago.”
“We’re friends,” Lycus says with a weary sigh. “And as you can see, lovely Helen here is a delight.”
“He’s right,” she says proudly. “I am.”
“Did I hearfiancéecome out of your mouth?” Aunt Anissa’s standing and staring at me with narrowed eyes. “Did I hear that correctly, Dimitra?”
“Don’t make a scene,” Mother says, looking tired, but her eyes are still hard.
And glaring right at me.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Girl, come over here. What is your name again?”
I step forward. “Her name is Camille, and you will address the future lord’s wife with more respect, Aunt Anissa.”
Anissa rolls her eyes. “Oh, right, so sorry, what was I thinking? Come here,Camille, let’s see you.”
Camille glances at me, but steps forward. Anissa’s eyes move down her and back up, taking in every detail, no doubt noting any imperfection and making up more than a few.
“Lovely shoes,” Sophia says with a sneer. “Where are they from? Did you wear them in off the street?” She laughs at her own non-joke.
“Oh, honey, don’t be so rude,” Aunt Anissa says, smiling. “The girl is joining our family. We need to be more welcoming.” She comes around the table, eyes narrowed. “Where are you from again, Camille?”
“Philadelphia,” I answer for her. “And her family isn’t your concern, Aunt Anissa.”
“Hm,” Anissa says and looks back at Mother. “Dimitra, do you have anything to say?”
