Chapter 15 Aisling
AISLING
I groan when I look at the calendar on my phone and realize that I’ve put off dress shopping far too long.
It’s the morning of the gala, and I don’t have a clue what I’m going to wear.
“Everything alright?” Evi asks over her daily hot chocolate—the vise she’s replaced coffee with, I found out, since she’s several months pregnant.
I love that she’s made a habit of joining me in the kitchen to drink it, a silent display of friendship that I know could be seen as picking my side over her brother-in-law’s, because I’ve learned that hiding in the kitchen means I can avoid seeing Raf at all most mornings.
I find the less time I spend with him, the more likely I am to make it through a day without being upset.
“Any chance you’re in the mood to go dress shopping today?” I ask sheepishly. “I don’t have an outfit for tonight.”
“Oh!” Evi’s face lights up, her warm amber eyes softening affectionately. “Well, I would love to, but…”
She bites her lower lip, a soft rose creeping into her golden cheeks, and my stomach sinks.
I know it’s probably too much to hope for, but I’d kind of felt like I’d started to form a genuine friendship with Sandro’s sweet wife, an ally amid the ruthless Chiaroscuro brothers, but maybe the feelings aren’t as mutual as I’d hoped.
“Don’t worry about it if you already had plans,” I rush out to mask my disappointment. “It was silly of me to leave it to the last minute.”
“No, it’s not that,” Evi assures me. “It’s actually, well…
” Her blush intensifies, and her eyes drop as she fidgets nervously with the sleeve of her sweater.
“I kind of took it upon myself to, um… make you a dress.” Then her eyes fly wide, turning doe-like as she grasps my wrist. “But if you’d rather shop for a dress, I totally understand. I’m sure you’re used to designer—”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, warmth flooding my body, and I can’t help the smile that splits my face. It feels like the first genuine one I’ve cracked since my night of overindulgence with Raf, and I cover my aching cheeks with my palms. “I didn’t know you made dresses. Can I see it?”
Evi giggles and rises from her chair. “I figured you and I are about the same size, though you have a few inches on me,” she explains, pulling me from my seat to drag me excitedly back toward the residential wing where we’ve been staying.
“So it’s probably best if you try it on now anyway, in case I need to make alterations. ”
The house is thankfully free of the Chiaroscuro twins—likely out “pounding pavement”, as Raf calls it, despite it being a weekend with an event this evening, and when Evi shows me into her and Sandro’s suite, I can see her tasteful touch in the room’s decor.
It silently reminds me that she intentionally left Raf’s room plain so I could decorate it with my own preferences, though I haven’t gotten around to it.
I honestly haven’t seen much point when I very much intend for our marriage to remain temporary—especially after what happened that one drunken night.
“I had one dress in mind for you, but if it isn’t your style, I have plenty to choose from,” Evi says.
“How many dresses have you made?” I ask, then my jaw drops when she opens her closet to reveal hangers draped with countless designs made of the finest fabrics.
This doesn’t look like a luxury-brand wardrobe—it looks like it came straight off a designer’s rack.
Evi laughs, scanning the contents with affection.
“Honestly, I’ve lost count, but I promise it won’t offend me if they seem too amateur for your tastes.
” She makes a beeline for the back of the closet and snags a gown that looks more like an art piece than an outfit.
And as she carries it out to me, all I can do is stare in wonder.
It looks like a living flame caught in fabric.
Blood-red satin with a corseted top that promises to steal my breath.
Irish lace appliqués bloom over the strapless bodice like wildflowers trying to soften a blade.
The chic cat-eye neckline could only be capable of showing off my breasts in the most flattering of ways, and the high slit in the mermaid skirt reminds me of Jessica Rabbit.
It’s fierce and feminine, Italian drama stitched together with Irish soul, and somehow, it feels like my entire identity is reflected back at me.
“You want me to wear this?” I ask, my voice breathless.
“At least try it on,” Evi urges a little giddy. “I figured the corset will minimize any need for alterations since it’s adjustable.” Handing it off, she perches on the edge of the bed, one hand absently rubbing her small but unmistakable baby bump.
She glows with that quiet kind of joy that sneaks up on you when you aren’t looking.
I step into the dress and pull it up my body.
The satin sighs around my hips.
When she laces the corset, I feel myself straighten, shoulders back, spine lengthening, like the garment has the magical ability to make me unbreakable.
When she finishes tying it off, I turn toward the mirror—and freeze.
I’ve worn beautiful dresses before, as all daughters of powerful families do.
But this one feels different.
Like it was made for a version of me I haven’t grown into yet but desperately want to.
“You look like the patron saint of revenge,” Evi says softly, eyes bright. “Or maybe temptation.”
Smoothing my hands down the soft fabric, I rotate in the mirror as I admire each angle and all the details she’s put into the design.
It would be an understatement to say I’m blown away by the beauty and quality of it. Evi clearly has a talent for fashion design.
“It’s incredible,” I breathe. “You could make a fortune selling dresses like this.”
Evi smiles shyly, color painting her cheeks. “I’ve been thinking about opening up a little boutique or something once everything calms down—you know, just for fun.”
“I love the idea,” I gush. “And I’m happy to help in any way I can. I’m not familiar with sewing or anything, but I did do some marketing classes a few years back.” Turning away from the mirror, I meet Evi’s eyes. “You’re sure I can wear this tonight?”
“Of course. I want someone to enjoy it, and it’s not the most comfortable style for my current condition.” She beams down at her tummy, her tender expression tugging at my heartstrings.
Not for the first time, I’m grateful that I’m not all alone in this ruined mansion full of builders and brutal Mafia men, and my heart warms at my sister-in-law’s generosity.
The fact that she and Sandro are so in love says a lot about the kind of man her husband is, and in the weeks that I’ve grown closer to her, it makes me want to see what she sees in the Chiaroscuro men.
“Are you nervous about having twins?” I ask.
I know it’s her first time around, and she’s barely eighteen—having one child at that age is daunting enough as it is.
Evi’s hand falls lightly on her belly, and she smiles up at me. “Honestly, it just feels like a blessing. I… well, not many people know this, but I actually suffer from PCOS—polycystic ovary syndrome—so I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to have children.”
I can see the shadow of sadness behind her eyes, and my lips press into a sympathetic line.
It means a lot that she would tell me something so personal, especially when I can see the pain it causes to think about such things.
“Sometimes, I still fear the worst because my ability to carry to term is less likely, but so far, the doctors say the babies are healthy.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I say, reading between the lines of what she’s saying. This might be her only chance to have a baby, so the fact that she’s having two really is a blessing.
“What about you?” she asks, dashing away a single tear that rolls down her cheek and waving off the emotion as she quickly changes the subject. “Do you want a family?”
Riley’s face is the first thing that flashes into my mind—her round cheeks and adorable dark ringlets, the way she smiles like sunlight when she sees me, her infectious giggle.
I love that little girl more than life itself.
I’ve adored her from the moment she was born, and it makes me smile just thinking about the first time I held her, how tiny and fragile and perfect she was.
“Yes, I would love to be a mother,” I admit, a hint of sadness tinging the pure joy within my memories of spending time with Riley.
Because I’ve hardly spoken about her since my wedding day, worried of what I might let slip if I got too comfortable around someone in the Chiaroscuro house—like Evi.
Better not to think about it too closely, because I’m not so sure that motherhood is a reality I’ll ever fully get to experience—not after everything that’s happened.
Especially now that Raf and I are so far down this path of a fake marriage. Because he and I certainly won’t be raising a family together.
And once our divorce is official, no other man will want to take me as his wife—not now that the entire world would consider me damaged goods.
It was no minor miracle that my family managed to hide the fact that I’ve been ruined for a long time now.
And in the world of Mafia brides, I’d already been bordering on the age of an old spinster.
When the daughter of an Irish Catholic Mafia boss has to get a divorce, that all but ensures she’ll be perceived as broken, damaged beyond repair.
But I don’t mind.
Before we cooked up this whole alliance against the Tanakas, I imagined I would be living with my parents and brothers until the end of my days.
Not that they would mind. I’m grateful to have such a close, supportive family. In truth, I was surprised they even entertained the idea of an arrangement with Raf in the first place.
I suppose the only thing that can overrule an Irish temper is stealing what belongs to them.
Plus, my mistake with Raf five years ago didn’t come without its own blessings—in a roundabout way.
He might have cost me a lot the night he broke my heart, but he did also give me things I never imagined I could want so badly—things I’ve cherished from our time together.