6. Bianca
6
BIANCA
G od, I’m so bored.
The ball is in full swing, and I’m probably the only one here who isn’t having a good time. I’m sure others would say I’m being ungrateful as it’s clear my parents spared no expense in preparation for this event, a testament to my family’s wealth and status.
The room is a masterpiece of gilt and glitter, with soaring ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and crystal chandeliers that cast a soft, ethereal glow over the assembled guests. The floors are polished to a high sheen, reflecting the swirling skirts and polished shoes of the dancers as they move in perfect time to the music.
But even as I take in the grandeur of my surroundings, I can only feel boredom and dread.
I’m stuffed into a gold ball gown that cinches my waist to an impossibly tiny circumference, the fabric heavy and constricting against my skin. My hair is curled elegantly and falls down my back, and my makeup highlights my natural beauty.
I hate this stupid dress. I hate every moment of this.
As I make my way through the crowd, I can feel the weight of countless gazes upon me, some admiring, others leering with barely concealed desire. I’ve lost count of the number of masked men who have swept me onto the dance floor, their hands gripping my waist possessively as they guide me through the steps of the waltz.
From the sidelines, I can see my mother and father watching the proceedings, their expressions a mix of pride and calculation. They know that every dance, every smile, every coy glance is a chance to further our Family’s interests, to forge new alliances and solidify old ones.
My gaze is drawn to Sofia and Dominico who are spinning and twirling across the dance floor with effortless grace. They look like the perfect couple, their movements perfectly synchronized, their faces aglow with love and happiness.
Even though I’m thrilled my sister found her soulmate, I also can’t help but feel a pang of envy as I watch them. Sofia has managed to achieve the one thing that seems so far out of reach for me—a happily ever after. Even though she once claimed to hate Dominico, I always knew that it was bullshit. It was Sofia’s way to protect her heart from how much she liked him.
But as I see them together, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever be so lucky. Will I find a love like theirs, a partnership based on mutual respect and admiration? Or am I doomed to a life of empty smiles and a loveless marriage?
As the music swells and the dancers whirl around me, I feel a sudden sense of suffocation, a desperate need to escape this ballroom. But just as I’m about to dash out, I hear someone approach.
“May I have this dance?” a low, sensual voice asks me.
I look up, and it takes everything in me to not gasp.
It’s the blond suitor.
He looks dashing and so very handsome in his black tuxedo, his hair slicked back to show off the sharp, angular planes of his face. His black mask shows off his full lips and high cheekbones. But what really catches my eye is how impossibly green his eyes are. I’ve never seen eyes that color.
But I can’t let him know that I’ve been watching him. A Marino never shows their cards.
My brow furrows as I take him in, hoping he can’t hear my traitorous, thundering heart. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Not yet,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips beneath the mask. “But I have a feeling we’ll be getting to know each other quite well very soon.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Is that so? And why is that?”
He pulls me closer, his hand resting on the small of my back as we begin to move in time with the music. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in the outcome of this tournament,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear. I fight the urge to shiver. “And you , Bianca Marino, are the key to everything.”
What does that even mean ? Is he trying to tell me he plans on winning the tournament? What does a vested interest signify? Is he betting on something?
I have so many questions. I open my mouth, but he gently shushes me.
“All in good time, my dear,” he tells me, spinning me out and then drawing me back in, our bodies pressed close together. I can feel the hardness of his muscles beneath me, and heat pools in my belly. “For now, just enjoy the dance and the mystery.”
Who even talks like that? I’m so bewildered but also slightly turned on by this. This man is so self-assured, but he isn't repulsively self-assured like my dance with one of the other suitors who kept bragging about his ‘sexual prowess’ the whole time.
When the dance ends, the blond suitor stills and brings my gloved hand up to his mouth and kisses it, his eyes never leaving mine.
Do women swoon still? Because I’m about to.
“I will see you very soon, Bianca,” he whispers, my name rolling off his tongue like a prayer. Before I can say another word, he melts into the crowd, disappearing from sight.
I’m suddenly overcome by the urge to have a very, very long shower.
* * *
The first rays of dawn are just beginning to peek through the curtains of my room, but I’m already wide awake, my mind racing with thoughts of what the day will bring. Today is the final day of the tournament, the day when my fate will be decided once and for all.
By sunset, I will be married to the winner, my life forever bound to a man I barely know.
But even as I try to wrap my mind around that, I can’t stop thinking about the blond suitor from last night’s ball. The memory of being in his arms, spinning and twirling across the dance floor, is seared into my mind like a brand.
I can still feel the heat of his touch, the way his hand rested on the small of my back as he guided me through the steps of the waltz. I can still smell the intoxicating scent of him, a heady mix of sandalwood and spice that makes my head spin and my heart race.
But it was his voice that truly captivated me, the rough, sensual timbre of it sending shivers down my spine when he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. There was a confidence in the way he spoke, a self-assured certainty that he would emerge victorious in the tournament and claim me as his prize.
Part of me rebels against the idea of being won like some kind of trophy, but another part of me can’t help but be drawn to the sheer magnetism of the man. There’s something about him that both thrills and terrifies me, a sense of danger and excitement that I’ve never experienced before.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at my door.
“Miss Bianca?” one of the maids calls. “It’s time to get up. Hair and makeup are arriving shortly.”
I sigh before getting out of bed. My mind keeps drifting back to the blond suitor, to the way he made me feel alive in a way I never have before.
And maybe, just maybe, the blond suitor will win my hand and heart.
* * *
The tension in the air is thick as we make our way to the tournament grounds. The lawn is buzzing with activity as groundskeepers make last-minute preparations for the final day of competition.
I’m dressed in a stunning gown of ivory silk and lace, the bodice studded with delicate pearls that catch the light with every movement. It’s the dress I’ll be wearing for the wedding ceremony later today.
I can’t help but remember how proud I was when I first suggested the idea of wearing my wedding gown during the final day of the tournament, thinking it would add an extra touch of theatricality to the proceedings. But now, as I feel the weight of the fabric settling over my shoulders, I can’t help but regret my decision.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck in this dress all day,” I mutter to Sofia as we take our seats in the balcony. “What was I thinking ?”
Sofia gives me a sympathetic smile, reaching over to squeeze my hand reassuringly. “You look beautiful, Bianca. And just think, by the end of the day, you’ll be a married woman.”
I make a face.
Victorio’s voice booms out again, and day two of the tournament officially begins. The top two contestants are taking their places on the field. On one side stands the blond suitor, his muscular frame taut with anticipation as he checks his weapons. On the other side is the dark-haired suitor, his expression one of cool determination as he surveys the course ahead.
“One of those two men will be your husband, Bianca,” Papa says, his face drawn as he watches the challenge.
I nod, my eyes fixed on the two men as they face off in the first event, a marksmanship challenge. The air is filled with the sound of gunshots as they take aim at the targets, their movements quick and precise.
To my surprise, the dark-haired suitor manages to beat the blond one by the narrowest of margins, his final shot hitting the bullseye just a fraction of a second faster. I feel a pang of disappointment as the crowd gasps, but I try to keep my expression neutral, knowing that the main challenge is yet to come.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Mama says, leaning over to pat my arm. “The obstacle course is what will really determine the winner. That’s where a man’s true strength and agility will be put to the test.”
I nod, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.
But then, it’s time for the final challenge.
I can feel my heart racing in my chest as the two suitors line up at the start of the obstacle course. This is it, the moment that will determine my fate, will determine my husband.
I watch with bated breath as the starting gun goes off, the sharp crack of the pistol echoing across the lawns. The crowd erupts into cheers as the blond and dark-haired suitors take off running, their bodies a blur of motion as they navigate the twists and turns of the course.
Beside me, Chiara and Mia are yelling at the top of their lungs, their voices rising above the din of the crowd as they cheer on their favorite candidates.
“Go, blondie, go!” Chiara shouts, pumping her fist in the air.
“No, the dark-haired one! He’s got this!” Mia counters, bouncing on her toes in excitement.
Mama tries to shush them, her voice strained with tension, “Girls, please! Remember your decorum!”
But they pay her no need, too caught up in the excitement of the moment.
As the suitors make their way through the obstacles, I can’t help but feel a surge of pride at the challenges I’ve designed. With my father’s input, I’ve created a course that will truly test the stamina and abilities of any man who hopes to win my hand.
To my delight, the blond suitor seems to be pulling ahead, his agility and strength carrying him through the toughest parts of the course with ease. As he clears the final hurdle and sprints toward the finish line, I find myself rising to my feet, my heart pounding with anticipation.
And then, it’s over. The blond suitor crosses the finish line a full second ahead of his rival, his chest heaving with exertion as he raises his arms in triumph. The crowd goes wild, and I can’t help but join in, a giddy sense of excitement rising up within me.
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all , I think to myself as the blond suitor revels in the applause and cheers. If a man like this is to be my husband, a man who seems as brazen and untamed as I feel, maybe we can find a way to make this marriage work.
But then, as the victor turns to face the crowd and removes his mask, a hush falls over the assembled spectators.
Because the face that is revealed is not one of the suitors on the list of invites.
It’s none other than Rork O’Malley, the man who introduced himself outside the bridal shop over a week ago.