Chapter Twelve #2
“Yes. Mr. Romano handed me a drawing of the dress he wanted, and I sewed it based on it.”
My eyes grew wide with surprise.
“Let’s put this on so I can see if I need to make any last-minute adjustments.”
She helped me undress to my underwear, then pulled out lace panties from the clothing bag. They were sheer in the back and in the front, except for a lace rose covering my most private area. I flushed as I picked them up. These little nothings wouldn’t cover much. “What about a bra?”
“The dress doesn’t allow for one.”
She gave me an understanding smile, then turned her back to me and hung the dress by the hanger on the doorframe. I quickly removed my underwear and put on the panties, then covered my breasts with my hands. “You can turn around.”
She turned with a kind smile, then moved to my side with the petticoat. “There’s a nightgown and lingerie in the clothing bag for tonight.”
Tonight. The color drained from my face. Our wedding night.
I had fantasized about sweet lovemaking with Nestore in the past. Even after I’d run away, he’d often appeared in my dreams. It had always been sweet and loving. What Nestore had in mind was far from my fantasy. He wanted to claim me and to prove a point.
The seamstress’s face filled with pity, but she didn’t say anything. I was glad she didn’t try to assure me things would be okay. She knew Nestore, or at least the stories everyone told about him, so there was nothing she could have said to improve my situation.
In the past, I never had reason to fear him, but now that he hated me, nothing could protect me from his wrath anymore. Maybe I could have softened his anger if he’d given me the time to convince him, but he’d avoided me, maybe for that reason. Perhaps he wanted to hold on to his rage to punish me.
After I’d put on the petticoat, the seamstress helped me into the dress. It was heavy and molded my body into a perfect hourglass shape. I never wore turtlenecks, so the high collar felt unfamiliar. At least it wasn’t as tight as the rest of the dress.
“Perfect,” she said with a satisfied nod.
She was right. The dress fit perfectly, and it looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.
When I moved the skirt, the diamonds glittered in the light, sending prisms on the walls.
The bodice accentuated my breasts but remained modest due to the high collar.
I remembered talking about my dream wedding with Nestore when we’d been locked in the basement.
I’d described a princess-like dress to him, and this came very close to the vision I’d described back then, minus the collar.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this symbolized him chaining me to him.
Heat pressed against my eyeballs, making me blink rapidly in an attempt to contain the tears.
I wished today were like the fairy tale I had imagined. I wished Nestore’s and my story hadn’t taken a dark turn.
“I don’t need to change anything.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll make room for the stylists now.”
She took my hands and gave me a small smile. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
I couldn’t return the smile. “Thank you.”
She left. I stared at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
The stylist entered shortly after. She enhanced my natural curls and then put a diadem on my head.
She kept my makeup light, as I preferred, and when I finally looked in the mirror, I truly looked like a princess.
My fingers trembled as I smoothed them down the skirt of my dress.
“Your shoes,” the stylist reminded me, setting the heels down in front of me.
They, too, were adorned with countless crystal gemstones.
I slipped them on, wondering how this wedding would play out.
I had seen cars arrive in the past hour.
Many unfamiliar faces had emerged, dressed in their finest clothes.
The only family I had left, Flavia and my half brother, weren’t invited. Nestore couldn’t forgive her for helping me run. Maybe it was better if she stayed away so she’d be safe from his wrath. She had escaped this place.
“What now?” I asked, as I waited in my dress. The stylist folded her hands in front of her stomach and gave me a stiff smile. “I was told to keep you company until someone picks you up.”
Who would lead me to the altar? I doubted my father was in a state to do so, if he was even still alive.
A knock sounded, and she quickly moved to the door and opened it.
Surprise filled me at the sight of Nestore’s cousin, Niccolo, waiting in the doorway.
He was dressed in a black tuxedo with a bloodred bow tie and shiny black shoes.
His curly chestnut-brown hair was combed back.
He gave me a tight smile when he stepped in.
That was when I noticed the cascading wedding bouquet in his right hand.
He held it out to me. I bridged the distance between us and took it from him.
It was a massive bouquet, beautiful but at the same time with an air of…
wistfulness. Roses and chrysanthemums in mauve, deep purple, and blush mixed with dark green leaves, creating a Gothic look.
I fingered the blush-colored roses. “Are they from the maze?”
Niccolo’s stern expression shifted to something slightly softer. “They are. Nestore insisted they be in the bouquet.”
I wondered why. I got the feeling the maze only symbolized pain for him: the loss of his mother, the trauma of the day she never returned, the knowledge that she was buried somewhere inside the maze.
“Come now. The ceremony is about to begin,” Niccolo said, holding out his arm for me to take.
“You’ll lead me to the altar?” I asked. Considering his open contempt for me, I hadn’t expected it.
“I’m the only family Nestore has left, and your family members are either dead or traitors, so yes, I’ll walk you to the altar.”
I swallowed hard. I slid my arm into his, then gripped the heavy bouquet more firmly.
Niccolo led me into the hallway, then down the staircase to the magnificent entrance hall. Dark red rose petals covered the floor like a carpet and led toward the closed doors of the ballroom, behind which I could hear a low hum of voices.
“I hope you don’t intend to run ever again.
You almost killed him. If you run again, I’ll kill you.
He’ll mourn you, but he’ll move on. It’s better than to repeat his misery of the last two years.
” The anger in Niccolo’s eyes hit me unprepared, but at the same time, I felt relief.
Nestore needed people who cared about him. He needed a family he could trust.
“He won’t let me,” I said with a slight shrug. Nestore would keep a close eye on me.
“You should want to stay.”
“Will he give me reason to stay?” I whispered. “Because to me it looks like he wants to make me pay.”
Niccolo sneered. “Nestore isn’t the same with you as he is with the rest of the world. He’s feared. He’s cruel. But he holds you on a pedestal.”
I doubted it. Maybe in the past, but as he had said, he couldn’t forgive me for running.
Violin music picked up, followed by the lower notes of a contrabass.
Like the bouquet, the sound was a mix of soft beauty and deep, mournful tones.
The doors swung inward. Hundreds of guests lined the dark red carpet made of rose petals that ended at the front of the ballroom, where an arch was draped in black fabric and dark red roses. Below it stood Nestore.
Pity filled everyone’s eyes.
This wasn’t what fairy tales were made of.
“The madman and his broken princess” was what people called us behind closed doors. I had overheard the kitchen staff gossiping. Broken princess. I didn’t feel broken, so I could only assume they expected Nestore to break me.
Nestore wore his long black fur coat, with the white crown atop his black hair.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt beneath his coat, but he carried his scars like the most expensive garment.
I’d witnessed the birth of almost every scar on his body, had borne witness to the screams that came with them, had often cried along with Nestore as he bore the agony, until after a while only my tears fell.
The part of Nestore capable of tears died long ago.
Niccolo tugged at my arm until I followed him down the rose path.
Some faces were distantly familiar as I passed them.
The compassion on the women’s faces tightened my belly.
In the front row, Remo Falcone, his three brothers, and his enforcer, Fabiano, waited.
I looked away from them. I couldn’t help but blame Remo for Nestore’s further descent into darkness.
When we arrived at the front, my gaze moved up to Nestore’s face. His expression held triumph and a dark hunger that made me want to take flight again. The music slowed, then stopped, and Nino Falcone stepped to the front, holding a book in his hands. Was he going to hold the ceremony?
Nestore held out his hand for me. His palm bore burn scars. But movement in a small cage off to the right caught my attention. Had Nestore put one of the wild animals into a cage for entertainment?
My heart shriveled when I realized the creature in the cage was my father, or what was left of him after years in Nestore’s vengeful hands.
I didn’t love my father. Most days, I feared and despised him and wanted him dead.
He deserved what Nestore had done to him, and my heart didn’t break for him at the sight of his suffering.
It broke for the man who’d soon become my husband.
With every act of cruelty, a little part of Nestore died.
Or maybe I was foolish for believing there was still anything left of my Nestore.
“Amelia.”
His low command forced me to shake off my shock and put my hand in his. My eyes moved up to the crown on top of his black hair. This was different from the other crown he’d worn. Gemstones had been glued to the top of the fingers where the nails should have been.
Lowering my gaze from the disturbing sight, I put the bouquet on the black chair beside me, then we faced Nino.
The ceremony was short yet not sweet. It spoke of triumph and overcoming the things that held us back.
It talked about devotion and loyalty. I glanced at Nestore’s face, hoping to see glimmers of love, but his expression was as cold as marble.
Niccolo came with a plush red velvet cushion with our rings.
It was the first time I saw them. As with everything else, Nestore had made the decisions.
He took a beautiful yellow gold marquise-cut ruby ring and put it on my finger.
Small diamonds sat beside the massive ruby gemstone.
His own ring was black with a fine line of tiny red rubies in the center like a rivulet of blood.
My fingers shook when I put it on him. For a heartbeat, he closed his eyes, and an almost peaceful look passed his face, but then it vanished, and he fixed me with a possessive stare.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Every pair of eyes in the room was on us. I didn’t dare look into the cage to see if my father was watching, too. I focused on Nestore. This was his show. His act of dominance. My leaving had broken his heart. Now he wanted to break mine, and if that failed, break me.
He cupped my cheek with his rough palm, then lowered his head slowly. I tilted my head up to make it easier for him. I had yearned for this kiss for so long, but never like this.
His lips were almost shy as they sought mine, tender and probing, bare of the harder emotions his face displayed. I kissed him back with the same softness, hoping it would awaken something in him I feared was dead.