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“Vivian, honey—” Mom says, already trying to mediate.”
But Dad beats her to it. “You agreed to this marriage, Vivian,” he says, “and Violet will, too. For the family. Isn’t that right, Violet?”
“I…” Violet looks from Theo to Dad and back. “I mean, yes. Of course.”
I stare at my father, wanting to scream, to protest, anything, but I can’t, not without raising questions that I can’t answer. My hands are tied, and the worst part is, my father is right. I chose to marry Lucas.
But that was before I fell in love with his brother.
I sit there, sick with fear and frustration, listening to the others arguing, until I can’t stand it anymore. With one abrupt movement, I shove away from the table, mutter something about food poisoning, and run from the dining room.
ChapterFourteen
I’m so distraught that I almost don’t hear the sound of footsteps behind me, and when I do, I balk, worried that it’s Theo. As disruptive as my outburst was, the only thing worse would be for him to follow me off to some dark alcove like the secret lover that he is.
But when I reach the first-floor landing and turn around, it’s not Theo standing on the stairs, but Violet. She looks stricken yet determined, like a soldier marching into battle without a hope in hell of surviving. And the expression on her face as she looks at me is one of frustration.
I stand there and stare at her, conflicted thoughts racing through my mind, in shock and half-ready to beg her not to go through with this. “Sorry,” I mumble instead. “It’s the food, I swear.”
“It’s not the food,” she says flatly, crossing her arms over her slim chest. She strides over to me, as graceful and demure as ever, and as she stares down at me, it strikes me how much more suited she is to this life, to this family, than I am. She’s always fit in, always made the right moves, while I’ve been the one to flounder in the background, fucking up one thing after another because I can’t just seem to shut up and do as I’m told.
“Vivian, what the hell are you thinking?” she hisses, stealing a look over her shoulder down the stairs. The sound of Mom’s concerned voice drifts back to us from the dining room, along with Dad’s reassurances—to Victor, no doubt—and a bunch of consternation from the consiglieres. Theo’s voice is notably absent from the conversation.
“I told you, my stomach hurts,” I say, but I can’t keep the edge out of my voice.
Violet snorts. “Right. And I’m sure blowing up at Dad in front of Victor and Theo Emmerico had nothing to do with it.”
“Violet—”
“Sis, what about this don’t you understand?” my sister protests, her eyes wide as they search mine. She takes me by the shoulders, her voice low and agitated. “This isn’t about you. It’s not abouteitherof us. It never has been! The family has always come first—what part of that don’t you get?”
“I thought you were on my side,” I reply, but there isn’t much anger in my voice; it’s all been drowned out by despair.
“Sides?” Violet shakes her head in disbelief. “Sides? How can you say that? All I care about is this family, and that. Includes. You.” She’s practically shaking my shoulders now. “This alliance is on the rocks already, and it hasn’t even been six months. Now Dad finally pulls together a way for us to make this right—formeto make this right—and you start mouthing off in front of Victor Emmerico?! What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” I snap, pulling free from her hands. “Maybe I’m just sick of getting shoved into a box every day for the sake of the ‘family.’”
“You think I’m not?” Violet demands, her voice cutting straight through me. “I hate us being the ones with this whole business riding on our backs, but what choice do I have?” She shakes her head. “I keep my chin up and do what I have to do. It’s the only thing either of uscando. If our parents think now’s the time for me to get married... and that Theo’s the one to lock this alliance down...” She sighs in resignation. “Then that’s what I’ll do. And if you care about me at all, Vivian, you won’t make this any harder.”
“Vi...” I begin, but it’s too late. She’s already turning on her heel, pushing her hair off her face, and starting back down the stairs, somehow regaining her composure in the few seconds it takes for her to disappear into the dining room.
I watch her go. It’s the only thing I can do.
* * *
I endup taking shelter in the West Wing bathroom, and that’s where I break down, sobs taking over my body as I slide to the floor against the closed door, trying and failing to get a grip. I can hear the sounds of arguing from downstairs, and at one point Mom comes up to check on me, but I just tell her I ate too much and she goes back downstairs. I’m not sure how long I sit there, crying my eyes out, but eventually some of the others disperse: Mom to talk things over with Violet, and Dad and Victor to smoke cigars and sort out the formalities with their consiglieres.
I thought I knew what I was getting into when I married Lucas, no matter how much I’ve always hated the pressure of having to put the family business above everything else. I thought I was ready for the reality of never having a shot with someone I actually loved, all for the sake of the alliance. But I was so, so wrong. And no matter what I tell myself, I know Violet is right: there’s no way out of this, not for us. Our fates were decided for us the moment we were born into the mob, and the only options we ever had were to either accept it or leave... and there’s no leaving now.
I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life.
I’m not sure how long I spend in there, crying my eyes out, and each time I hear a noise, I’m half-expecting it to be my Dad, on his way up here to chew me out for making him lose face. That’s why, when there’s a quiet knock at the bathroom door, I wipe my eyes fretfully, adrenaline bursting through my stomach. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I call. “The steak just didn’t sit well, that’s all.”
“It’s me.”
Theo’s voice is level and composed, a far cry from how I must sound, and I probably look a total mess when I stand up and open the door, peering cautiously around in the hallway. “You shouldn’t be up here,” I warn him listlessly. “The others will wonder why you’re talking to me.”
“I don’t care,” he replies, his hands in his pockets. He looks like he’s in the midst of a heated internal debate, and when I study his face, I can’t help but fight a fresh wave of tears. Will I ever be able to look at that face and not despair at the fact that I’ll never be able to touch him again?
