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While Carlotta had been very young when my first wedding had taken place, I was more than confident in her competence to do precisely what I had asked.
She was my sister, after all.
2
Amedea
Istared in the large mirror and hated admitting that the dress suited me. Whoever had chosen it proved they had good taste. And that they had a large purse.
At this thought, I grimaced. I had played along. I had not defied my father, had not tried to escape. I had undergone a spa day, and allowed my hair to be braided into a complicated hairstyle. I hadn't even complained when they put make-up on me despite the current temperatures and, last but not least, had squeezed me into this dress with a tight-fitting top.
It was not only expansive but also dotted with lace and tiny, sparkling stones. The place chosen for the ceremony screamed luxury, money, and grandeur.
I knew numerous guests were expected, yet they hadn't let me out of this room. My father was probably afraid I might disappear at the last minute or might speak to Emilio.
At least he could have given me answers to my numerous questions. The only thing I knew was that I was marrying Vincenzo de Archard. The oldest of the brothers. The former boss. The man had already been married, and was said to have murdered his first wife in cold blood.
I had never had anything to do with him. Until now, I had not been interested in whom he had killed. Or why. The thought sent shivers down my spine. What if he had only agreed to the whole thing to get his hands on his next victim?
I had not escaped my father to place myself in the clutches of another man who was possibly even worse.
My gaze wandered to the window. I didn't have to look outside to know my father's bodyguards were posted below.
He did not trust me. And he was right not to because mentally, I was busy with what alternative options I had to not walk down the aisle. An escape seemed impossible. Killing myself would free me from my dilemma, but it was also not the ideal solution.
I was attached to my life. And even more to my freedom.
A scenario like this had led me to run away from home and seek shelter with Emilio in the first place. He had always cared for me over the years and ensured I was doing well. He had nurtured my talents and given me the tools to pursue my dreams. In return, I had worked for him.
He was the older brother I had never had.
I looked away from the window as I heard the door unlock.
I was not surprised to see my father's face in the mirror. I crossed my arms. How realistic was it to kill him with the heels of the high heels I had squeezed into?
His face reflected nothing of what one would typically expect to see on this occasion. No joy. But also no triumph, as I had expected. After all, he got what he had wanted all along.
I was getting married – and he no longer had to worry about me while I did whatever I felt like.
Almost disparagingly, he eyed the dress. At that moment, I loved it more than I already did.
"Have you come to give me a few last kind words?" I asked, unable to keep the scorn out of my voice.
My father had always wanted a son, not a daughter. Even more so, not one who possessed a particular strength of character and by nature made life difficult for him with my stubbornness.
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't already planning your escape," he replied.
"How could I? Your men are standing at every corner. And this dress isn't exactly inconspicuous."
He snorted. "I wonder what they spent on it."
"They had it made by a tailor in Conca dei Marini," I said, almost a little proudly. The older woman who had helped me into the dress earlier had told me and raved about how exclusive said tailor was.
I believed that immediately due to the filigree handiwork.
"I'm sure something cheaper would have sufficed."
I raised an eyebrow. Just like that, he had put a gun in my hand, probably without suspecting anything. "But we're talking about the de Archards here,cazzo. What did you expect?"
