Chapter 21 Viviana #2
A rap on the door yanks me from my much-needed sleep. I doubt I’ve slept for more than a few hours. Knowing him, he hasn’t slept at all.
Why do I still care? Why can’t my brain stop running in an endless circle, chasing him? It’s exhausting.
With a sigh, I say, “Coming.”
I open the door and find the concierge offering me a professional smile and holding out a velvet box.
“Good morning, Miss Bertinelli. This is for you.”
I take it with trembling hands.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he says before retreating.
I nod, incapable of forming words.
The asshole tries his best to find a crack in my defense and breach it to sneak back inside like the virus he is. Not going to happen. Yet, I open the box, my eyes bugging out at the diamond necklace encrusted with emeralds, a heart shaped emerald dipping in the middle. It looks stunning.
Attached is a note.
I promised you the world. This is just the beginning, mo run.
You can’t buy my heart, Tristan. It’s not for sale. I’ll still wear it to show him I am not affected. Nothing will change.
My sister pokes her head inside, and I realize I had left the door open. Damn his uncanny ability to own my entire focus.
“You like it?” she asks, her eyes sparkling.
My mouth hangs in sheer incredulity. “You helped him?”
She waves the thought away. “He has impeccable taste. Went through three designs before the result satisfied him. With no limit on spending, I selected the rarest gems.”
“He does indeed,” I gulp. “Thank you.”
Now I have to wear it.
Chiara stares into my eyes, checking how I am holding up. She raises a brow, not buying my rehearsed smile. “How are you, honestly?”
I shrug.
She sighs, “I wanted to kill Cato.”
“Good thing you didn’t.”
“Best decision ever.” A bright smile paints her face before she turns pensive. “Tristan has shown an interest that makes me wonder…”
My sister is too smart.
“It’s him, isn’t he?” she whispers.
My chin dips, not wanting to lie but not willing to admit the truth. When it comes to him, I gatekeep every feeling, safeguard every memory.
She gestures around to emphasize her point. “He spent millions on a wedding you planned out of spite. Even more for this gift. It will become a topic of conversation for decades ahead.”
“Not my intention,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Putting a dent in his bank account didn’t happen either.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, not even the slightest bit sorry. “He fucking told our wedding planner the first time we met her that I ‘am in a mood’ and to show me only extravagant things to splurge on.”
“At least he’s smart,” she giggles, but then a sigh replaces it. “Sadly, he’s friends with the enemy. Everyone is stressing out.”
Tristan, because I swear, he’s so high on his power, he invited everyone to our wedding. And everyone responded yes.
If my wedding ends in a bloodbath, I… I don’t even know what I will do. That’s why I postpone thinking about the implications.
“Cato hasn’t put Celia down,” my sister says, worry clear in her voice.
“She’s daddy’s girl,” I say, trying to bring some levity.
A mischievous gleam shines in her eyes. “He’s so proud of that. Can’t wait for her to grow up.”
I slap her arm playfully. “You’re evil.”
She shrugs, not sorry at all.
Another knock rings, and when I open the door, Evie lingers, hesitant to enter. “I hope it’s all right.”
“Come in,” I say, pulling her into a hug.
Our friendship is bigger than this strain, and I couldn’t be happier that she’s by my side.
She hugs me back, relief clear in her exhale, and I bathe in her comforting presence.
“He loves you, Viv. He truly does,” she whispers.
“Evie… please.”
I can’t get soft. I will marry someone who loves power games. Who loves to win. Alertness is crucial to survive this marriage sane and as unscathed as possible.
She nods, her lips pulling down.
Then pandemonium ensues as my suite fills with my family members and beauty team.
Both Chiara and Evie stay with me as I primp for my wedding day. A natural makeup enhances my features with a glow, my dark hair cascading down my back in soft waves.
My gown is a white A-line, V-neck, with long sleeves, lace appliques, and a hundred buttons running down the back. It’s pure elegance, making me feel like a princess. The jewelry adds sophistication, reminding me that starting today, I am a queen.
As I look at my reflection in the mirror, I imagine taking his breath away as I walk down the aisle. Literally. It would be the merciful thing, but with my nonexistent luck, I would waste a wish. Instead, I want him to see what he had and lost.
If I am being honest, becoming his is as binding as it is liberating.
“You look spectacular,” my father says, offering me his arm, and we go downstairs where a classic car waits for us, taking me to the church where we’ll sanctify our wedding.
“You’ve made me the happiest father alive, Viviana mia.”
Patting his hand, I offer a small smile, the veil disguising the truth.
I am not pure.
I am not innocent.
But it thrills me that only a few people know that.
He’s the best at deceiving.
I am the best at pretending.
We’re the perfect pair, aren’t we?