CHAPTER TWO #2
“Yes, cara,” she said, her tone ever so gentle. Motherly. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until now.
“Your future husband and his family will be formally meeting you tonight.” She ran her hand along the dresses, her fingers caressing the expensive fabrics. “Valentino, Versace, Dior, Prada. Only the finest for you.”
I pushed myself off the bed and moved closer to the rack, touching a midnight blue gown with trembling fingers. Each dress represented another step toward my fate—a fate I was walking into willingly, even while knowing what awaited me.
This is my choice, I reminded myself.
A political, unwilling choice… but my choice, nonetheless.
God, who was I trying to fool?
“Which do you think would please Matteo?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
The gowns hung like elaborate lies, their jeweled necklines catching the light in a way that reminded me of polished shackles.
Lucia’s dark eyes softened. “I think emerald would complement your complexion beautifully.” She pulled out a stunning, deep green dress with a plunging neckline and delicate beadwork. “It will make your eyes shine. You have beautiful hazel eyes.”
As she held it against me, I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror. The exquisite color against my pale complexion was a sharp contrast, a striking yet elegant difference. The gown was absolutely stunning. I was worried I would ruin such perfection if I touched it. Ruin it with my flaws.
“What about this one?” I asked, reaching for a black floor-length dress with a high neckline and modest cut.
This seemed more appropriate considering the timing.
Lucia frowned in the reflection. “Too severe. Too... funeral-y. Tonight is about new beginnings, not mourning.”
“Isn’t it though?” The sharp words slipped out before I could stop them.
Lucia hesitated, her hands stilling on the dress. “Serafina…” she sighed, her eyes soft and a little glassy.
“We buried my mother yesterday and now I am choosing my own prison uniform. These beautiful gowns are just accessories to my gilded cage.”
Bitterness coated my tongue as I stared at the gowns, the same acrid flavor that came with swallowing words I wanted to scream.
“I am mourning, Lucia,” I finally admitted shakily.
She pulled the emerald dress away from me and placed it on the bed before guiding me toward my dressing table. “Marriage isn’t always a prison.”
“This one is.”
“Marriage is a sacred bond between two people—”
“Sacred bond?” I huffed. “This is not a normal marriage and we’re not normal people, Lucia. I know what you’re trying to do. But please, don’t sugarcoat my situation to make me feel better. I’m not as fragile or as gullible as you think, so I can take the truth.”
In the mirror, I caught sight of the emerald dress on the bed. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Each dainty stitch, each crystal embellishment was another link in the chain I was willingly clasping around my own ankles.
Lucia began brushing my hair and I sat still.
She was a great hairstylist and I knew she’d come up with something elegant for tonight.
“You are right, nothing is normal about this relationship,” she agreed with a sigh.
“And this is a fact you’d have to accept.
Make the best of what you got. Marriage is made up of compromises and commitment. And in your case, there is—”
“A lot to compromise on?”
She pursed her lips. “Well, yes.”
How fortunate for me.
I should have stayed away from those romance books and never let myself get swept away by their love stories. Flawed yet beautiful love stories. I read too many of them, and silly me, had started to dream of something more. Something romantic and passionate.
I knew marriage was a lifelong commitment, and it would get messy sometimes. But every woman desired a loving, caring and committed partner.
For a moment, I was too gullible and forgot I wasn’t allowed to dream. To want. To feel.
“What is he like?” I whispered. “The real Matteo, not the man my father describes.”
“I don’t know him personally, cara.”
“But you’ve heard things, right? You know more than I do.” I tried to move so I could face her, but she tsked gently and kept my head still.
“I’ve heard he takes his position as the heir very seriously. Business is important to him.”
Blood business she meant. Everything that was illegal and corrupted.
“He is handsome and the ladies fancy him.”
I wrinkled my nose in response. “I know that already.”
“I don’t know what you want to hear, Serafina.”
“How do I make him want me?” The question burned my throat as it escaped. “Not just as a wife, but as someone he... values.”
Her hands paused in my hair. “Cara… it hurts me to say this, but men like Matteo, they don’t value anyone.”
“I need to survive this marriage,” I admitted. “Father says I have to make Matteo want me, need me.”
Lucia resumed brushing, her strokes gentle and methodical.
“In my experience, the men in our world are actually simple creatures beneath their complicated, impenetrable exteriors. They want to feel powerful and useful. Respected. Give them the importance and gratification they don’t even realize they crave. ”
“And how do I do that? By being sweet and submissive to him?”
Lucia’s eyes flashed as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that cut like steel.
“Men like him don’t want a wife. You’re a game to him.
A conquest.” Her voice sounded almost unfamiliar, as if she were completely different from the sweet, caring nanny I grew up knowing.
“They can be brought to their knees, but keeping them there requires mastery. You want to be both the flame and the ice.”
Her hands dropped to my shoulders, her fingers digging in just the slightest bit, the sharpness fueling my focus on her words.
“When he expects surrender, become a fortress. When he expects a fight, yield but never completely. There is a rope in your hand, Serafina. And you control how tight it is. You become a trickster, a puzzle. A puzzle he will want to solve for the rest of his life. Make him want to conquer you.”
Her lips twitched with a half-smile, something akin to devilish. “But remember, you can never be conquered. He will want to own you, but if he is the authority then you are the power. You are the Morelli Princess and will be the Salvatore Queen.”
And Queens were not owned.
They were worshipped.
“Do you understand, cara?”
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
I stared at our reflection in the mirror. There was something undeniably fierce in her expression and I wondered how much of her words were from experience. I realized there was so little I knew about Lucia.
I nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
She released my shoulders and straightened, a calm look sliding over her face, hiding a mask of fascinating paradox. Lucia put the last bobby pin in my hair, and then took a step back to admire her work. “There we go. Do you like it?”
My dark hair had been swept into a graceful bun, except for the wisps that were loose and brushed against my cheeks.
“It’s beautiful.” The soft layers elegantly framed my face, softening my features. “Thank you. I think it’s perfect for tonight.”
“Alright, how about makeup? Do you want to do it on your own?”
I didn’t trust anyone to do my makeup. I was sure Lucia was great, but I liked doing my own. I was good at it. “I’ll do my own makeup.”
“Of course. In the meantime, let me find a perfect pair of heels that will go with your dress.”
Lucia gave me a pat on the shoulders, and then walked away as I started gathering all the makeup I would need for this specific look.
I applied my makeup with careful precision, layer by layer. I worked methodically, my fingers steady despite the anxiety churning within me. Foundation blended seamlessly into my skin, concealing the dark circles beneath my eyes, evidence of the last few sleepless nights.
I swept a champagne shimmer across my lids, defining my crease with a deeper taupe, and then lined my eyes with a thin stroke of black liner, winging it slightly at the corners.
After two thick coats of waterproof mascara, my lashes were longer and fuller.
For my lips, I chose a nude rose color that I knew would complement the emerald dress.
When I was done, I stood up and faced Lucia. She gasped softly. “You have such great talent with makeup, cara,” she whispered, while carefully holding the dress in her arms.
“Thank you,” I murmured, shyness overtaking me at the compliment.
The fabric felt cool against my skin as Lucia helped me step into it.
Silk slipped through my fingers like water, too fine to hold onto, too delicate to claim as mine.
The emerald dress cascaded down my body, clinging and conforming to every curve before pooling at my feet, its hem trailing like a leash I’d agreed to wear.
She tugged on the laces at the back to secure them in a knot. “Look at yourself,” she urged, turning me toward the full-length mirror.
The transformation was startling. The woman staring back at me was both familiar and a stranger—regal, elegant, and untouchable.
The deep emerald color made my hazel eyes appear more green than brown, and the plunging neckline revealed just enough décolletage to be alluring without crossing into vulgarity.
I looked exactly as they wanted me to. A perfect doll to be dressed up and presented.
Lucia helped me into the Christian Louboutin stilettos with crystal embellishments that sparkled with each step. Five inches of what could be a murder weapon. Both dangerous and beautiful. Too bad we couldn’t see much of this exquisite craftsmanship since my dress covered it.
“You are truly stunning,” Lucia praised, with great pride in her voice. “You look like royalty, the true mafia princess that you are. Own it, Serafina.”
I smiled, but no matter how much I tried, it never reached my eyes. “Thank you, Lucia. For everything.”