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Thank you, the note stuck between the flowers read.
If Luca or any of his men had seen it, they would have assumed he was thanking Alma for going through with the wedding. They wouldn’t have suspected the real meaning or to whom he was saying it.
Thank you. Thank you for saving my life. Again. Thank you for giving up everything you are. Again.
I pluck one of the flowers and walk to the freestanding mirror sitting against the wall. Anyone who doesn’t know us well enough would assume I’m Alma. Even I have a hard time telling me apart from her right now, with my freshly dyed dark hair that makes my pale skin seem even lighter, my freckles more pronounced. I was able to pin it up before the wedding planner and assistant got here, so they didn’t get a chance to see the hack job Daddy did on it.
It might be petty and inconsequential, considering what I’m about to do, but the loss of my long tresses is the nail in the coffin. The final goodbye to myself.
“Here lies Carina,” I whisper. “She had a potty mouth, but she was a good nut.”
Pain lances through my palm, and I glance down to the rose I’m fisting tightly. Its thorns pierce into my skin. Blood trickles along the long stem and drips onto the pristine fabric of the dress, staining it crimson.
It’s almost poetic, seeing the way my lifeblood spreads. It’s the price I pay for being the identical twin of my father’s favorite daughter. The curse I bear for loving them both.
Luca Sinacore will not take kindly to deceit. He’ll consider it a betrayal. A default on a loan that must be repaid one way or another. The terms were clear. My sister as his dutiful bride or my father’s blood.
Thing is, the very docile and submissive nature that makes Alma the wife Luca desires is the same thing that made her run. Like a little lamb who realized the lion would eat her alive if she remained.
A single tear rolls down my cheek. The only one I’ll allow myself to shed.
The wedding planner’s assistant reflects in the mirror as she enters the room. “Are you ready, Miss Di Persia?”
I wipe my tear and straighten my spine. “Yes.”
She hands me the bouquet of white roses, her movement faltering when she spots the blood on my dress. “You’re bleeding!”
Bending over, she pulls out pins from a pocket and begins to gather the material. When she’s done, the stain is completely concealed.
“Thank you, Selena.”
She hooks her arm out toward me. “Shall we?”
I’m taken to the Hope Trinity Catholic Church, fifteen minutes from the house. The driver opens the limousine door for me, and I step out to find my father is waiting for me at the intricately carved double doors of the chapel.
He flicks his gaze to the man standing by the vehicle. Luca’s man.
“Alma, you look stunning,” he says, bringing me close to him. Placing a kiss on my forehead, he whispers, “Thank you.”
I nod and hook my arm through his. “Let’s get this over with.”
We go up the marble steps to the double doors that are opened by the two guards posted there. An impeccably dressed man wearing a black-on-black suit and an earpiece escorts us through the main foyer, toward the hall where the ceremony will take place.
My heart beats louder in my ears the closer we get. It’s as if I’m heading to my execution, where the drumming becomes almost deafening, drowning out the sounds of the violinists beginning to play Pachelbel’s Canon in D.
That’s our cue to enter.
I tighten my hold on my father when the doors to the chapel open, slowly revealing the hundreds of guests standing at attention. Waiting for me.
Yet they’re not what hitches my breath in my throat as my feet attempt to root to the floor. It’s the man standing at the altar at the other end of the aisle.
Luca turns to us, his hard gaze locking onto me. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t give any hint of his emotions. He doesn’t need to, because I know them all too well. He wanted her, not me. And if he ever learns of my deceit, he will make me pay.
A vise wraps itself around my chest as my father tugs me toward him. The doors slamming shut behind us gives finality to our choice to follow through with this lie.
Breathe. Breathe.The action becomes more of a chore with each step I take. I imagine this is what it felt like back in the day, walking toward the gallows. Toward a line of ruthless men who have the power to easily end your life.
A snap of the neck.
