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“You sound angry.”
It’s hard to keep the bite from my tone when I reply, “Should I be happy?”
Michelle brushes my cheeks with blush one last time and leans back, grinning. “You look stunning.” She starts picking up her things from the vanity table and placing them in her bags. “Florian’s lucky he’s so pretty, or I wouldn’t have stayed overtime. Even for such a good bonus.” She winks at me. “Congratulations on your wedding.” She grabs her bag and nods at Briseis. “Bye, Mrs. Cortez. Have fun, you all.” With one last wave, she leaves the room, and I exhale because having her in here was torture.
I couldn’t discuss anything around her, and if she found the bride sad and uninterested in the whole thing, she said nothing.
“She’s right. You do look stunning.” Briseis speaks up in the stretched silence and taking a deep breath, I get up and spin around to study my reflection.
My locks cascade down my shoulders in pretty waves, creating a rather elegant look around my face, sharpening my high cheekbones, and a small pearly pin on the side glistens under the lights, emphasizing my flawless makeup that almost transforms me into a princess straight from the fairy tales.
If the princess was dragged to marry a villain instead of a prince, that is.
However, all this pales in comparison to the white ball-gown-style wedding dress made of the finest silk and chiffon, the corset wrapped so tightly around me with various laces it’s a wonder I can breathe. It gives an illusion of a slim waist, creating rather generous curves on my hips, and the endless skirt seems huge, allowing me to twirl around if I so wish. I could’ve never imagined wearing something so feminine and thinking how much it suits me, even with all my imperfections.
The blue heels finish the look, and according to Michelle, that was per Florian’s request so I’d have something blue on my wedding.
The hilarity of this man never fails to astonish me.
My reflection makes me feel all kinds of ways, so to stop all the emotions sweeping over me, I lift my chin and adjust the veil on my head. “Octavius decided to go all in despite this wedding being a charade.” I glance at Briseis, who stands up and pours herself yet another cup of tea. “Is this how you felt when Santiago forced you to marry him?”
She takes a tentative sip. “Yes. A bit worse, all things considered. But I’m familiar with the sense of doom and hopelessness you’re feeling among these powerful and wealthy men.”
“Oh, is this why you’re helping me get ready right now? Because you empathize with my pain?”
She straightens up at my verbal jab, and her eyes flash in fury, although her voice stays even. “You have a right to be angry. You have no right to take it out on me, though.” A beat passes as we have a stare-off. “Whatever happened between Octavius and you has nothing to do with me.”
“So that’s your stance? A woman needs help, and you won’t do shit because you don’t want to interfere?” I know she’s right, and I shouldn’t take my anger out on her, but I’m about to be married to a man who might do God knows what to me. “Wow!”
She rests her back against a wall, sipping her tea some more as she ponders on my statement. “It’s about loyalties.” Since I stay silent, she elaborates, “My loyalty is with Santiago and the Four Dark Horsemen. I’m on their side even if sometimes I don’t agree with their methods. However, I know them. They gave you a choice, and this”—she motions her hand up and down my form—“is a result of your choice. And no offense, Isla. But I’ve just met you tonight and you wanted to put my husband behind bars.” She places her cup on a nearby table and crosses her arms. “I have my own anger,” she finishes, and I have to say I’m surprised to see some character underneath her quiet and soft-spoken nature.
However, that’s not what snags my attention.
It’s how she protects her husband.
Despite everything, she loves him and accepts him as he is, and the way they look at each other should be illegal.
Is this kind of marriage possible with one of them if you forget about sanity, morals, and laws?
Briseis’s phone vibrates, and she snatches it up, muttering, “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
“They’re on their way here. Octavius is going to drag you to the church, willing or not,” she whispers, and she steps toward me as she probably reads the utter horror on my face, and suddenly, all this becomes too much.
A bubble bursts inside me, spilling all my fears out, and there is only one way to contain it.
Run.
Fisting the skirt of my heavy wedding dress, I rush out of the room, my heels clicking loudly on the marble and echoing through the walls of this cursed mansion. Their voices bellow after me, one more panicked than the other. “Isla!” Jimena must have woken up.
Ignoring their pleadings, I scrunch my eyes and shake my head because they mean nothing.
Mercy, compassion, empathy.
Octavius has no idea what these concepts mean, and that makes him the most dangerous man I’ve ever met, and unfortunately for me…he showed me how he punishes those who cross him.
I cascade down the stairs, my heavy breathing filling the hallway and not letting me fall into the abyss that’s my desperation and misery.
